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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23850190">Suffering in Silence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFireRedIce/pseuds/BlueFireRedIce'>BlueFireRedIce</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Book of Bravo [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEAL Team (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate ending to episode, Brock Reynolds Whump, Hurt Brock Reynolds, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mentions of Blood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:55:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23850190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFireRedIce/pseuds/BlueFireRedIce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the attack at the checkpoint, Jason had asked if anyone was hit and his team had replied they were fine. Turns out adrenaline can be a bitch; you ride the high it gives until you come crashing down - and to Bravo's horror, Brock crashes down a hell of a lot further than the rest of them when he turns out to be not as okay as they thought.</p><p>An alternate take on 1x05 - Collapse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Book of Bravo [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915066</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>157</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Silence of the Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiparker/gifts">remiparker</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>A/N: Hi all! Another story for you lovely people! I wasn't going to post this straight away because the original plan was to do a one-shot, then I thought about it and went 'nah. Why do one chapter, when you can do three!' I think this is going to be a three chapter fic, undecided though. We'll see :) BUT! This is another Brock-centric, Brock-whump fic for you Brock fans! Woot!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>This is dedicated to the lovely remiparker who was incredibly enthusiastic about this fic, so here you are my dear!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I hope you all enjoy, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts :D</strong>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>As they rolled up to the checkpoint, Brock couldn’t help but think the only thing missing that would help reaffirm the fact that they were heading into an ambush was a great big neon sign saying <em>‘ambush here!’</em>. The men waiting to greet them weren’t in uniform, and they looked far too laid back for people supposedly guarding their post.</p><p>Apparently the rest of the team agreed.</p><p>“This doesn’t look good,” Sonny muttered, his head moving as he tried to look past Jason and Trent to get a better view.</p><p>“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “These definitely aren’t the guys who waved us through earlier today.”</p><p>Trent inched the car closer – nice and smooth so as not to startle them. As he wasn’t in the front, Brock looked around to get a better idea of what they were dealing with. He picked out five men scattered around the Dshka that was parked up; all armed with AK’s and looking less than friendly. Then he spotted the bodies at the base of the hut.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>“These guys don’t look political,” Sonny continued. “They look more like bandits.”</p><p>“We don’t know who they are yet,” Jason countered, but the tension in his voice said he knew exactly who they were.</p><p>The car fell quiet as they continued their approach, and he realised Jason had yet to spot the bodies. Tapping his MC on the shoulder, he leaned forward and muttered, “your one o’clock,” in his ear, just as Trent brought them to a halt.</p><p>Jason exhaled sharply, the bodies confirming his suspicions. “Looks like they shot those guards. Anyone goes for the Dshka, shoot ‘em in the face.”</p><p>There was a murmur of agreement between them; everyone’s attention on the men slowly walking towards their truck.</p><p>“Call your shots,” Jason continued. “He’s mine.” ‘He’ being the man in the purple shirt closest to them.</p><p>“Left near,” Sonny breathed.</p><p>“Right far,” he added.</p><p>Purple Shirt came to a halt three feet from the car, brandishing his gun. “Step out!” he ordered. “NOW!”</p><p>“The Dshka!” Sonny warned, and there were several clicks as safety’s were flicked off.</p><p>“On me,” Jason told them, then open fired.</p><p>Gunfire erupted around them, and the tangos fell one after another. Brock spotted a man further back making a break for it and turned his attention to him, but when Jason gave Trent the order to go, his shot was thrown off as the car lurched forwards. He cursed and readjusted, but was thrown off again when they slammed into the barricade.</p><p>He couldn’t help but give the back of Trent’s head an exasperated look, before ducking when the back window was blown out by the guy he’d been going for – Sonny responding in kind.</p><p>They sped off, and Brock sighed in relief. Another hairy situation escaped.</p><p>“Anybody hit?” Jason asked, shooting them a look through the rearview mirror. Brock shook his head.</p><p>“We’re good,” Sonny replied.</p><p>When he noticed Jason still looking at him, he barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the unspoken order for verbal confirmation. “We’re good.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>Silence fell as the car hurtled towards the town. Brock leaned back in his seat heavily when a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he frowned - confused. Inhaling slowly to get more oxygen into his blood to help clear the lightheadedness, he wondered if the lack food the day before was to blame.</p><p>In his defense, he hadn’t been hungry – but that’s what happens when you have a late night feed of curry, naan and a four pint tub of mint choc-chip ice-cream when the best friend you haven’t heard from in nine months drops by unannounced because she was in the neighborhood for forty-eight hours, wanted to catch up and was ‘starving’.</p><p>Courtesy of the unexpected food binge, he’d still been digesting the calories into most of the next day, and by the time eating was actually possible and not a mildly nauseating thought - they’d been spun up. MREs weren’t exactly filling, but the one he’d had before they left the embassy should’ve been enough to get him through the rest of the mission.</p><p>Evidently, it wasn’t. Reaching into one of his pants pockets, he grabbed the emergency MRE he always carried there. Oh tasteless cardboard food, how he loathed thee. Ripping it open, he broke a chunk off and began the arduous process of trying to eat the damn thing without choking on it.</p><p>“Got the munchies, huh?” Sonny asked, his lip twitching upwards but his eyes staying forward. Neither Jason nor Trent reacted to the question; but he’d have been surprised if they did – the whole team was aware of his fast metabolism and how quickly the need to eat could strike. Normally, he was fine on missions because he always ensured he’d eaten beforehand, and that was on top of whatever he’d already had during the day.</p><p>In this instance, he hadn’t eaten for most of the day because he’d well and truly pigged out the night before. His sudden need for food just reiterated how much of a bad idea a massive ten o’clock calorie bomb was for him; especially if – when matched with a sudden burst of adrenaline - it was going to make him dizzy enough to affect his vision.</p><p>He blinked to clear the large spots away, silently vowing that the next time Roxy turned up wanting to eat food so late at night, she was on her own. Although he’d help her with the ice-cream; he couldn’t say no to a tub of dairy deliciousness.</p><p>“Got s’methin’,” he managed to get out, grunting in disbelief when he had to pry his jaw apart. Holy hell, Davis could laud this new flavour all she wanted as being more nutritionally beneficial - but if he had to risk his mouth getting glued shut every time he ate it he’d show her – politely, because she could be scary when annoyed - exactly where to stick it.</p><p>Stuffing the bar back in his pocket irritably, it took him a good five minutes to get rid of any trace of the demonic food-glue from his mouth. The timing was good though, because it meant his attention switched from that to Jason’s calls to Ray as they arrived on the outskirts of the town - their path blocked by less than friendly looking locals.</p><p>“Ray, militia is setting up road blocks, we’re gunna need your help to get us outta here,” Jason told his 2IC, head on a swivel as he looked around; Trent putting the truck in reverse and backing them away from the danger quickly.</p><p>
  <em>“Alright give me a sec, I’ll get Davis to call for the drone. The evacuation convoy is going to reach the embassy in forty minutes.”</em>
</p><p>The sudden movement from the hard turn Trent threw them into made him groan softly; spots exploding in his eyes full force. Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus – but another sharp turn stopped that from happening.</p><p>What the hell was going on? Yes, his metabolism could play havoc with him if unattended for long – but Brock knew it’d never been this bad before. His head was fuzzy, felt heavy – in fact his entire body did. There was a steady whining in his ears, the sound reminding him of the odd bursts of tinnitus that he occasionally suffered from which made it hard to hear his brothers over the shouting.</p><p>There was no way this could be from hunger and adrenaline. Something more had to be going on.</p><p>He got his head up – just – and looked at Trent. But then he saw the mob of men blocking their route; realized Trent was already reversing away from them – Ray ordering them to fallback and Jason encouraging Bravo 4 with rapid-fire, “Gogogo!”</p><p>How much time had he just lost?</p><p>Brock looked at his hands, nearly blacked out. When he was able to focus again, he found his gun still gripped and ready – thank god his training was as ingrained into his subconscious as it was; even if he hadn’t been aware of what was happening, his body was – and his body had made sure he could defend himself.</p><p>He needed to tell Trent something was wrong – needed to tell him that he wasn’t feeling so good. Maybe he was sick with a quick acting bug. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched, they were in South Sudan after all and had just driven several hours to some remote village he could’ve somehow picked something up from.</p><p>But Trent was busy trying to get them out of the death trap and back to the road to meet the convoy. The last thing his friend needed was to be distracted from saving the team by worrying about some poorly timed illness.</p><p>He needed to pay attention. Shaking his head slightly, Brock looked at his surrounds and blanched when he realized he’d lost time again.</p><p>They were parked in the shadows near the front of the embassy, safely away from the mob that was – entering the embassy gates? How the hell did those protesters get in there? Then he saw Jason and Sonny hurrying back to them from the building they were parked outside of. When the hell did Jason and Sonny <em>leave</em>?!</p><p>Ohhhhh this really wasn’t good.</p><p>He tried to call out to Trent, realized he couldn’t say anything – that his tongue was heavy, his mouth filled with cotton. Sonny and Jason climbed into the car, Jason ordering Trent to move before he’d even fully closed his door so they could get Ray and Lisa.</p><p>This was really, <em>really</em> not good.</p><p>No sooner had the car pulled away from the curb, then it was screeching to a halt in front of the rest of their team. Through the ringing in his ears, Brock just caught Jason’s instructions for him and Sonny to get in the back.</p><p>Fumbling with the handle once, twice – he got the door open; was even more surprised when his legs held his weight enough that he could stand without stumbling.</p><p>Placing his hand on the body of the car, he used it to guide him to the rear; not even registering Ray as he passed. In fact, he was so focused on getting to where he was ordered to be the thought of asking anyone for help slipped from his mind like water through a sieve. Get to safety first, then ask for help; that was what they did.</p><p>He reached the door, fingers sliding over the rubber of the spare tire as he made it to the edge and finally – could see where he was supposed to be.</p><p>“Hurry up!” Sonny told him impatiently, and it was then Brock realized the Texan was standing there guarding the rear, waiting for him to get in.</p><p>Moving quicker, Brock scrambled into the back – trying to breathe and focus on what was happening so that as soon as he could, he could ask Sonny for help. Bravo 3 scrambled into the boot after him, quickly rearranging his limbs so he could swing the door shut. The movement shoved Brock into the back of the seat, and pain seared through every nerve in his body.</p><p>He was slumped against the side, out cold before he could utter a sound.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Revelations of Red</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>A/N: Hellooooo again lovely people! I'm so glad to see you're all looking forward to this story, it makes me do an internal happy dance when my fellow Brock-whump fans get excited! :D</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>So. Who watched the new episode? Can I just say, the bit with Brock and Cerberus... holy shit did I have a mild panic-giggle freak out. Despite the fact I love that they're focusing on what happens with working dogs after years of service, and I'm excited to see what they do with it (if anything) I also love Cerb, and don't want him to go :'( Although we all know full well Dita will continue on the show, maybe under a different name, but still. Guh. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Also, random note for this chapter - Brock is referred to as Bravo 6. Now, when I re-watched season 1, Brock was kept as 6 until Clay came in, and Brock got his unofficial 'level up' to B5. I've kept to this, as Clay has yet to join the team. Just so people don't get confused/think it's a typo :)</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Special shout out to:<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy92">Snowy92</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic">ShellyFanFic</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessiemar850">Jessiemar850</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down">burn_me_down</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301">Marvel1301</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate">yuckate</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder">Wurdsmadder</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen">TheLaurinchen</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GomezHN">GomezHN</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie">FlutieCutie</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiparker">remiparker</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97">purplehaz97</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren">KazooKaren</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88">Lakegirl88</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup">turnitup</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5">Bastet5</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella">Eggerthella</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KStatefan">KStatefan</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42">Laura42</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee">Floopdeedoopdee</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount">CamilleMadeAnAccount</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12">Muggleborn12</a> as well as the 22 guests who've commented/kudosed. You guys are awesome!</strong>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ray leaned his head against the back of the seat, taking the chance to let his heart settle back into its normal rhythm. </p><p>Trying to guide his brothers through a mob that had the potential of turning violent any second with next to useless visuals, then discovering Lisa had come looking for him instead of being evacuated with everyone else, followed by hauling the unconscious reporter to the convoy while praying he wasn’t about to get his unit or his friend killed by not being able to direct them – only to find the convoy <em>gone </em>when they got there – to say he’d had a stressful evening was a bit of an understatement. </p><p>All he wanted now was an ice cold beer and the chance to rack out in his hammock. And maybe not-so-accidentally strike Crowley across his smug little face, the bastard, for leaving Lisa behind. He didn’t care the convoy hadn’t waited for him specifically; Bravo would’ve come back for him – they <em>did</em> come back for him – but that asshole had put Bravo’s Logistics Specialist and one of his closest friends in harm’s way unnecessarily.  </p><p>And that would <em>not</em> go unanswered. </p><p>“Good to see you Davis,” Sonny drawled, his comment drawing Ray from his internal rant of seeking vengeance. </p><p>“Good to be seen,” Lisa replied, and he gave her a brief smile. He’d also be talking to Blackburn once everything had settled down about giving her a commendation for her bravery. She returned the smile, but it was weak at best – the only evidence to how shaken she was. </p><p>Once they were back stateside, he’d need to talk with her; reassure her that what she’d done out there was nothing less than amazing.  There were few people outside of his pack that he’d truly trust to have his back, and she was one of them. What she’d done today for him - for them both, really - further reinforced that fact.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for coming back for us,” he said to no one in particular as they hurtled through the streets, although he did thump Jason on the shoulder. “Can’t imagine public transport would’ve been too reliable tonight.” </p><p>“Well I think we can charge you a case of beer for the pickup,” Jason replied, looking at Trent. “What do you think?” </p><p>“Case from Davis, bourbon from Ray?” Trent replied, bumping fists with Jason when Bravo 1 laughed in delight. </p><p>“That’s cold,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t help but grin. Shit, after the night he’d had he’d cover the tab for them both. </p><p>“Remind me who saves your asses with exfil options on the regular?” Lisa retorted, her voice mild. He knew right then that he was definitely paying both and then some. </p><p>“That’s a mighty fine point there, Miss Davis,” Sonny quipped from behind them. “Wouldn’t want you to start charging us a case each after every mission that goes sideways. We’d be broke by the end of the month.”</p><p>Laughing at the discussion that suddenly erupted between his team about whether saving their sorry asses was technically a part of Lisa’s job description, and therefore made them exempt from having to pay up, he turned in his seat so he could start examining the reporter.</p><p>Removing his flashlight from his vest, he tapped Lisa on the arm with it and she took it; continuing her argument while holding it up and switching it on. With the light pointed at the floor so he could get a look at the pupils before testing their response, he carefully tipped the man’s head back; holding it in both hands and using his thumbs to peel open both eyelids.  </p><p>With a nod to Lisa, the light was shone directly in the reporters eyes before quickly being moved to its original position. The pupils were sluggish to move, but they did – which was a bonus; all things considered. Removing his notepad from his pocket, he wrote down the time and response speed, as well as the before and after size, then set a timer for fifteen minutes on his watch. As they were still forty minutes or so from the airfield, he wanted to run a couple more tests to ensure nothing went wrong before they handed him off to the medics. </p><p>Just as he went to take the flashlight back, Lisa’s eyes widened and she sat up straighter; staring… at his shoulder? </p><p>“What is it?” he asked her. Out of habit, he reached up to feel the area she was staring at – before he remembered that no one had shot at him. What the hell? </p><p>“Whose is that?” Lisa breathed, angling the light to show him. He looked behind him, his own eyes widening in horror.  </p><p>That was a lot of blood. </p><p>Running a hand along the seat, he looked at his glove and found it smeared with red; which meant the blood hadn’t been there long enough to completely dry. He found one, two – three holes in the seat, and when he added that with the shattered back window... “Who was sitting here?!” he snapped, voice panicked before realizing he knew exactly who it was. </p><p>He snatched the torch out of Lisa’s hand and shone it on Brock, his heart seizing in his chest as Sonny called for their brother but received no answer. </p><p>Brock was slumped against the side, unmoving.  </p><p>“TRENT!” </p><p>Everyone grunted as the car screeched to a halt – Trent yanking on the handbrake before throwing himself out of the driver’s seat and apparently unbothered by the fact they were now stopped in the middle of an open road. </p><p>“Ray!” Jason snapped, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. “What is – <em>shit.</em>” He’d just seen the blood. “Lisa, get on the line to Blackburn – find out if we can get a casevac to our position. Sonny, get in the driver’s seat and get us the hell outta here.” </p><p>“There aren’t any helo’s in the area,” Lisa replied, climbing out of the car and grabbing the reporter – dragging him into the seat she’d just vacated before shutting the door and hurrying to the other side. Ray had already climbed out so he could drop the seat; giving Trent room to lay Brock down. They both climbed onto the lowered back, grabbed the lights offered and held them up so the medic could see what he was doing. “And we’re still forty mikes from the base.” </p><p>“Call him anyway,” Jason ordered after cursing in frustration. “Give him a sitrep, see what he can do for us. Trent, what’ve you got?” </p><p>“Copy,” she replied, biting one of the torches while she operated the sat phone, then swapped both torches to one hand so she could fill their CO in. </p><p>“Two entry wounds,” their medic said as he removed Brock’s vest. “One in his shoulder, one just below the edge of his vest; no exit wounds.” </p><p>“There were three holes in the seat,” Ray told Trent. Looking at the seat where he knew the holes were, he thought for a second before adding, “check his upper back. Positioning of the hole puts it about there.” </p><p>Using a knife, Trent sliced Brock’s shirt away, and they both whistled at the bruising already there. The kevlar had done its job and taken the bullet, but it hadn’t spared the canine handler from the impact. “He’s gunna have some cracked ribs at least,” he muttered. “Ray, get my bag.” </p><p>“Do you want me to drive?” Sonny asked from the driver’s seat, scanning the road. “We’re sitting ducks if we stay here.” </p><p>“Go,” Jason confirmed, just as Trent said, “No!” </p><p>“Trent, we need to -” </p><p>“I have to try stop the bleeding <em>and </em>give him a transfusion, Jase!” Trent interrupted as he pulled out what he needed. “He’s lost too much blood already; a pint definitely, maybe two or three – if I don’t treat him now we’ll lose him.” </p><p>Jason swore, and Ray knew where his friend’s head was at: he was still reeling from Nate's loss – losing another brother so soon was something he wasn’t capable of handling right now; especially when it was nearly identical to how they’d lost Nate in the first place; their brother bleeding out with everyone none the wiser.</p><p>“He’s already in shock Jase,” he added, fingers finding Reynold’s pulse and taking it. They needed to do what they could for Brock, and right now that meant fixing what they could so they could get him to better care. “Shit, his pulse is thready Trent. What do you need from me?”</p><p>“You gotta be shitting me,” Jason breathed, hands digging in his hair. “Shit. Son – you and I will guard the truck until Trent gives the all clear to move. Ray, Trent; stabilize him – we are <em>not</em> losing him, understood?” </p><p>There were several copies as the team moved. Lisa climbed back out of the truck to give Bravo’s 2 and 4 room to move and headed to Jason’s side, the sat phone pressed into her shoulder. </p><p>“What’d he say?” Jason asked her as soon as she got close. “Anything he can do?” </p><p>She shook her head. “Convoy’s too far ahead to be of any use to us, and you know they won’t turn around with civilians on board. The security guys are about five klicks up the road – he said he can get them to double back and take the reporter off our hands at least; give us extra room.” </p><p>“Didn’t they evac the teachers to the airfield?” </p><p>“They did,” she confirmed. “But they came back with the convoy to help with the evacuations and provide protection.” </p><p>Jason groaned. He looked into the truck; knew that stabilizing Brock was their priority. And who knew how long that might take. With the reporter needing aid as well… “Do it, it’s better than nothing.” </p><p>With a nod, she lifted the phone back to her ear. “Sir, Bravo 1 has requested the security team uplifts the reporter; Bravo 6’s situation is severe and Bravo 4 needs all the room he can get to stabilize him.” </p><p><em>“Roger. Any idea how long you’ll be parked there?” </em>Blackburn asked, his voice fading for a moment as he spoke to someone nearby. “<em>ISR isn’t showing any movement of militia breaking off to head your way, but that will likely change.”</em> </p><p>“Sir, until Bravo 4 says the word, we won’t be going anywhere.” </p><p><em>“Understood. The security team is re-routing to your position. They'll flash their lights three times on approach.”</em> </p><p>“Copy that.” The line went dead, and she relayed Blackburn’s message. </p><p>Jason nodded. “Alright, three flashes, anyone else is to be considered hostile. Bravo 3, you copy that?” </p><p>“Lima Charlie,” Sonny replied somewhere from the darkness, his voice low and strained. </p><p>“Lisa!” Trent called, and she looked over. “I need you.” </p><p> </p><p>Jason held his hand out for the phone, and she passed it over. When she was gone, he exhaled shakily. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.</p><p>When they’d left that checkpoint, he’d <em>asked</em> if everyone was okay – and Brock had confirmed he was fine. Had he lied? Or had he not known? The more he thought about it, the angrier he grew. How could Brock not know he was hurt? Surely he would’ve realised something was wrong – it’s not like when you were bleeding out you went from conscious to unconscious in the blink of an eye - so why the hell didn’t he say something?!</p><p>Yes, Brock was quiet by nature, and hated being the centre of attention – but would his brother’s predilection for silence be the reason they lost him?</p><p>Jason thought back to the ride into town, tried to think if there was anything out of the ordinary that he’d noticed that could’ve indicated something was wrong. But he came up empty. The entire drive had been silent; the tension thick as they all focused on their mission.</p><p>Frowning slightly, he realised that wasn’t entirely true. Sonny had asked Brock a question – or rather, commented on him being hungry, and Brock had responded. But that wasn’t long after they’d left the checkpoint; and he realised with a sinking feeling that the checkpoint was twenty minutes outside of the town.</p><p>Once the deviation to get Lisa and Ray was factored in, plus the numerous attempts made to actually get to the embassy in the first place… god almighty. Brock had been quietly bleeding out for almost an hour, and not a single person noticed.</p><p>How could they have failed their brother so badly?</p><p>Looking across the car where he could make out Sonny’s silhouette, he knew a conversation between them would be happening in their near future; not to blame the Texan, but to ensure his brother wasn’t placing the blame solely on his shoulders.</p><p>Yes, Sonny had been in the back with Brock, so technically yes – if anyone was to notice something it would’ve been him.</p><p>But if Brock hadn’t raised the alarm, then perhaps there really were no warning signs after all.</p><p> </p><p>Flashing lights drew his attention, and he rounded the car as Sonny flicked theirs in response; the security guys pulling up beside them seconds later.</p><p>Doyle was exiting the car before it fully stopped and came up to him. “Your CO said you had wounded?”</p><p>“One of my guys took some rounds during a confrontation with bandits at the checkpoint,” he replied, “and we have a reporter who was knocked unconscious during the evac of the embassy.”</p><p>Doyle frowned. “How did he end up with you?”</p><p>“Because Crowley decided to roll the convoy before Ray and I were on board,” Lisa replied, sticking her head out the window of the door the reporter was slumped against. “Ray was on his way back, heard him go down. I went looking for him and found them both; then we found the convoy gone so the team had to come back for us.”</p><p>“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jason shook his head when the RSO looked at him. “There’s going to be certain things said in my report about Crowley, and none of them will be polite.”</p><p>“Same with ours,” he agreed.</p><p>“What do you need us to do?”</p><p>“Take the reporter; we need as much room as possible and we can’t treat him and our man.”</p><p>Doyle nodded, waved one of his men over and together they took him from Bravo’s car into their own. “Anything we should know about his condition?”</p><p>He looked in his car, saw Ray and Trent still working on Brock. “Ray?” he asked after a split second hesitation. He really didn’t want to distract either of his team, but he needed answers. “Anything these guys need to know about the reporter?”</p><p>“You guys know how to check pupil responses?” Ray asked, not stopping or looking away from his task.</p><p>“Sorry,” Doyle replied. “We’re just security.”</p><p>He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Not many people do. Ray?”</p><p>“Lisa, can you get the notebook from my pocket, give it to Jase?” Ray turned enough to give her access, and after a quick search she was handing the notebook over. “Jase, test his response, write it down in the book and then leave it with the reporter – the tests aren’t as far apart as I’d like, but it’ll have to do.”</p><p>“Copy.” He headed to the car, leaving Sonny and one of Doyle’s men to guard them as he got Doyle to hold up a light. Testing the response, Jason wrote down the information and noted that while the pupil response wasn’t any better – it also wasn’t any worse.</p><p>If the guy was lucky, he’d walk away with little more than a concussion.</p><p>“When you get to the airfield, get this guy to a medic and give him this,” he told the man, handing the notebook over. “It’ll give him a baseline to work with.”</p><p>Doyle nodded, tucked the notebook into his pocket and shot a look to the truck. “You want us to take her with us?”</p><p>Torn, Jason looked at Davis and considered his options. On the one hand, sending her away now would get her to safety faster, and would give Trent and Ray a bit more room to work. On the other, if they ran into trouble and Trent needed a third set of hands he’d be stuck either helping his brother, or trying to eliminate the hostiles that were trying to take them out. “As much as I’d like to send her with you, keeping her here means I can pull security for our truck if it’s needed.”</p><p>“Thought as much,” Doyle replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ll see you back at the airfield.”</p><p>“Copy that. Haul ass.”</p><p>“You know it. Let’s go boys.” Doors slammed shut, and the security team shot off down the road. Praying that keeping Davis with them was the right move, he wandered over to Sonny, throwing a quick glance into the car but he couldn’t see anything that gave away how they were doing.</p><p>Trusting Trent to keep him posted, he used the light from the car to take a closer look at Bravo 3, elbowing him lightly when he realised just how drawn his expression was. “Hey, look at me,” he said quietly, nudging him again when the Texan didn’t immediately respond. “This isn’t your fault.”</p><p>“Mmhm.”</p><p>“I’m serious Sonny – this isn’t on you. We don’t know what happened, so don’t beat yourself up.”</p><p>“I was in the back with ‘im,” Sonny said quietly, eyes still firmly locked on the road. “I shoulda noticed something was off, but I didn’t Jase. That’s on me.”</p><p>He sighed, but decided not to argue. Once he knew more about the situation he’d deal with Sonny’s self-recrimination, but for now he needed Trent to get Bravo 6 stable so they could get moving.</p><p>As though he’d read his mind, Trent was whistling to get his attention. “He’s as stable as he’s going to be,” he said the moment Jason and Sonny were at the window. “We need to haul ass so we can get him to a hospital. The sooner he’s there, the sooner they can fix whatever the bullet hit; he’s bleeding internally – but I can’t tell how bad it is with what I have.”</p><p>He swore. Just what they didn’t need. “Sonny, get us outta here. Davis, update Blackburn – tell him we need a hospital that can treat him.”</p><p>There was a flurry of movement as his team did as instructed. He helped Lisa lower the second half of the back seat so they had more room before he was climbing into the car; thumping on the dash as Sonny put the truck into gear and took off.</p><p>He just prayed they’d make it to the airfield in time.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Keeping his eyes on the road was the only thing stopping him from spiralling.</p><p>The lamp posts were sparse, meaning most of what he could see was revealed by the car’s high beams, but every post that whipped past was another closer to help. Sonny tightened his grip on the steering wheel, tried to ignore the sounds coming from the back. If he listened too closely, then it would tell him what was going on back there; reveal things that told him just how dire the situation was.</p><p>He didn’t want to know.</p><p>He didn’t want to know that Brock was slowly bleeding out. He didn’t want to know that despite packing the wounds with all the clotting powder he had on hand, Trent couldn’t stop the bleeding entirely.</p><p>He didn’t want to know that because Brock had been bleeding out since the checkpoint – had been bleeding out silently, as though his wellbeing wasn’t important to the team - he’d gone into hypovolemic shock. He didn’t want to know that Trent didn’t have enough blood bags to help his weakened body fight back; his weakened heart to keep beating.</p><p>Because if he knew, then it meant he had to admit he’d failed.</p><p>He failed Brock. There were no if, but’s or maybe’s about it. He’d been in the back with Brock – so he should’ve seen something was wrong. He’d sat beside him – so he should’ve realised that there was more to his stillness than usual.</p><p>He. Should. Have. Noticed.</p><p>But he didn’t. So he failed.</p><p>It didn’t matter that they’d been trying to navigate through a rioting town on the brink of full blown violence. It didn’t matter that every way they turned, there was another person who could hurt him and his brothers. Kill them, if they weren’t careful.</p><p>It didn’t matter that Lisa and Ray’s continued wellbeing was suddenly up to them because they’d missed the convoy. It didn’t matter, because if he could get distracted by what was happening around him, and completely miss what was happening <em>next</em> to him – then he didn’t deserve to call himself a SEAL.</p><p>He was trained to watch for tell-tale signs of trouble; to read between the lines for the finer details when the regular military man couldn’t. He was trained to spot even the smallest speck of dust out of place that could be the difference between leaving a fight on his feet or in a body bag.</p><p>He was trained to be observant. But tonight? Tonight he’d been worse than a kid stepping onto a naval base for the first time; unaware of the responsibilities his life would bring - would demand in order to keep his brothers alive.</p><p>He was supposed to be better. But he wasn’t; and now there was the very real chance they’d lose Brock because of it.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want to know what was happening in the back of the car, but it was all he could hear.</p><p>
  <em>“Jesus, he’s still bleeding. Goddamn useless clotting powder!”</em>
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  <em>“Trent, isn’t there anything else you can do?”</em>
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  <em>“We’re still half an hour out from the airfield, Jason. I don’t know if he’ll make it.”</em>
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  <em>“We need more blood – without it, we’ll lose him.”</em>
</p><p>He grit his teeth, inhaled deeply; exhaled shakily. He didn’t want to listen – but he couldn’t block them out.</p><p>“What if we get a car to meet us half way,” he ground out, his mind thinking quickly as to how he could fix the situation he’d caused. Jason turned to face him from where he’d been looking in the back. Asked him what he meant. “If we’re still thirty mikes from the airfield, a car should be with us in fifteen. They can bring anything Trent needs – can give him all the blood they can squeeze into Brock so that he makes it to a hospital.”</p><p>“Trent?” Jason said, looking back at the medic. “That worth a shot?”</p><p>Through the rear view mirror, he saw Trent nod; felt relief wash through him that his idea had been accepted and not shot down as idiotic. That he hadn’t been ridiculed because he’d failed the first time around.</p><p>“It could help, yeah. Better to do it than not.”</p><p>“Alright. Good thinking, Sonny. Davis; get on the horn – tell Blackburn we need medics asap.”</p><p>“On it.”</p><p>If they could get Brock into a different car, into one that had the ability to help him – then it meant he wouldn’t have to listen any more. A selfish thought, god was it selfish, but he didn’t want the sound of his failure nipping at his heels for the rest of the drive – not if there was another way to help Brock make it through this.</p><p>“Thank – <em>thank you</em>, sir. I’ll let Bravo know,” Lisa said, her tone catching his attention.</p><p>Looking in the mirror, he saw the stunned joy in her face; wondered what it could mean. “Lisa, what is it?”</p><p>“The medics took a convoy vehicle ten minutes ago,” she breathed. “They were ready to go as soon as I put the call in earlier, but they didn’t have transport. As soon as the convoy arrived, they commandeered a car big enough to lie a patient down – now we just keep driving until we meet up with them.”</p><p>“Well why the hell didn’t Blackburn tell us that earlier?” He demanded. It would’ve been nice of their CO to tell them help was already on its way, damn it.</p><p>“He only just got away from Crowley,” Davis replied, irritation colouring her voice. “My call is what broke up their ‘chat’.”</p><p>“Bet Blackburn’s pissed,” Ray muttered darkly. “No way he lets that stunt Crowley pulled go unanswered.”</p><p>“Sounded like it,” Davis replied. “Good news though, we’re already sourcing permission to land in Dubai; Blackburn is pretty confident we'll get it. Mandy has a contact at the American Embassy and they’re trying to get it over the line to land at the Airforce base.”</p><p>“And if she can’t get it sorted?”</p><p>“Then we’ll head to a European country. Dubai is the closest and best option for medical facilities though.”</p><p>“Yeah. Well,” Trent piped up, his voice strained and making everyone freeze. “He’s not going to make any country at this rate. Sonny, haul ass – if we don’t get any blood in him in the next fifteen minutes, we’ll lose him.”</p><p>Sonny was certain he’d never driven faster in his life.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Trauma For Those Best Qualified</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>A/N: Me again! So glad you guys are enjoying this! Whumping characters is (apparently) my favourite past-time. Whump is what I gravitate towards, so fair warning, anything that comes from me will have pain for someone somewhere, because I literally am a weirdo like that. A fact I have accepted with much resignation, as I joyfully plot someone's injuries for whatever story my brain is planning. Eh.</strong>
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  <strong>This chapter... Oi. At this rate I'll have to write an entire backstory for each of the boys as its own series, just so we can stop delving into it in my stories. Goddamn boys demanding feels. Guh! It got a hell of a lot deeper for a certain someone than I was expecting - but hey, would love to see what you think! I was pleasantly surprised by this character development, myself.</strong>
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  <strong>Who's looking forward to the season finale for SEAL team. *panicked laughter* not me! Considering they had to cut filming short, christ knows what they're planning on doing to close it off...</strong>
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  <strong>Special shout out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hail_The_Angel">Hail_The_Angel</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9">Raeschiev9</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69">swissmiss69</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory">AllAboutTheStory</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr">lorarawr</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterdonuts">monsterdonuts</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716">MiaMalfoy716</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969">Irish1969</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy92">Snowy92</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic">ShellyFanFic</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessiemar850">Jessiemar850</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down">burn_me_down</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301">Marvel1301</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate">yuckate</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder">Wurdsmadder</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen">TheLaurinchen</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GomezHN">GomezHN</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie">FlutieCutie</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiparker">remiparker</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97">purplehaz97</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren">KazooKaren</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88">Lakegirl88</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup">turnitup</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5">Bastet5</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella">Eggerthella</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KStatefan">KStatefan</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42">Laura42</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee">Floopdeedoopdee</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount">CamilleMadeAnAccount</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12">Muggleborn12</a> as well as the 30 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!</strong>
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  <strong>Oh, and because it's that date over here in New Zealand... May the Fourth Be With You! :D (I know. Nerd. Sorry everyone :P )</strong>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Trent had been through a lot in his career.</p><p>He’d seen brothers injured, friends killed. He’d seen poverty in its worst forms – watched as the people stuck there barely survived each day. He saw the worst kinds of evil the planet could offer, had helped eradicate it - and he’d survived it all.</p><p>He’d seen the fallout of S-Vests, of bombings on innocent towns. Seen what was left when the fire fights ended – hell, he’d been on the receiving end of an IED a year into his stint as a SEAL. He’d been subjected to the agony of a side-lining injury, he’d suffered through the surgeries that came after, and the rehab. The endless, gruelling and tiring battle that was rehab.</p><p>He’d fought for his position in the pack during Green Team, and again after his injury; not taking no as an answer – not allowing someone else to make the decision of retirement for him.</p><p>He’d been through hell and then some, over the years, and it still couldn’t prepare him for these situations.</p><p>Situations where he looked down, and his hands were coated with red; beneath his hands, a brother bleeding out.</p><p>He was never prepared when it came to that.</p><p>Give him an HVT or a bystander needing aid – and he’d be there, no issue. He’d treat missing limbs and bullet wounds, gaping lacerations, sprains or a goddamn insect bite for them if he had too. It was fine, because he didn’t know them. They were just another faceless person needing the help that he could give.</p><p>But put a brother in that situation; a brother who needed him – and his calm demeanour went out the window; smothered by the panic and terror that flooded his mind and made it hard to think. Hard to move.</p><p>That feeling; the one of all-encompassing fear and helplessness was one of the first things he’d been taught when he decided to learn this particular skill set.</p><p> </p><p>His interest in field medicine started the day he’d gotten out of surgery. Lying in his hospital bed, drugged to the gills from pain meds as he watched nurses look at his charts, doctors poke at their work – he hadn’t been disgusted by what he saw.</p><p>Yes his arm was disfigured, and yes, the doctors were telling him his chances of operating again were slim. But he had his arm, and that was all that mattered.</p><p>Because if he had his arm, then he’d find a way to operate – he just had to deal with the pain his recovery would bring in the meantime.</p><p>The lifestyle he led, had always led, meant that Trent didn’t do well when he was idle. He always wanted to learn, improve himself in some way. That’s why, drugged to the gills and lying in his hospital bed, he asked a nurse if he could look at his chart.</p><p>When she handed it over, he’d understood one word in every ten, if he was lucky. They were words he’d heard before; but had no idea what they meant in context to his situation. But he had the luxury of the internet, and so he’d started researching.</p><p>He researched everything he found; from the purpose of transfusions to what the pain medications he was on would do. He started researching head injuries when he found the notes about sending him for scans, then researched what the purpose of the scans were; what information they gave doctors. Then he researched that too.</p><p>When the doctor came to check on him, he asked about the procedure he’d gone through; then had to ask again a few days later when he realised his medication was making his memory patchy. Thankfully his doctor had seen something in his questioning beyond a general curiosity, and after her shift she’d taken the time to sit by his bed, pull up medical journals that talked about similar procedures – explained why they’d had to remove sections of muscle here, redirect veins, arteries or tendons there… anything she thought he might want to read to better understand what he was going through.</p><p>When he’d been weaned off his pain meds – at his request, so he could actually retain all of what he learned, rather than some of it – he started to realise the gravity of his situation; realised it was one that would take a hell of a lot longer to come back from than your usual stitch-and-go wound.</p><p>Rather than spiral into depression, his curiosity grew; it was what got him through his nine month recovery. His curiosity encompassed everything; about how the body operated, how a patient’s recovery was often determined by the treatment they were given before they reached the hospital – that if someone knew what they were doing when treating an injury, be it minor or major, it could vastly impact whether that person made a full recovery, or was disabled for the rest of their life.</p><p>It was fascinating, and challenging. And like any challenge that came his way, he held onto it for dear life – refusing to let go until he conquered it.</p><p> </p><p>A month after his surgery, he was at the base hospital wanting to talk to Doc. Wanting to learn. If he was going to be out indefinitely, until a physician cleared him to return to active duty, then he was damn well going to take advantage of the time offered to him to learn everything he could.</p><p>Because if he could help his brothers stay in the field by having the ability to treat their injuries properly - beyond what they had to learn in training - then he knew everything he was about to go through in rehab would be worth it.</p><p>When he’d first told Doc he wanted to learn, the man had laughed – told him his interest was just a result of his situation. When he realised he was serious, he took him out for a drink; sat him down and laid it all on the table for him. His words were brutal, but they were honest – and that’s what was important.</p><p>
  <em>“Trent, I admire your desire to learn – commend it even. And I’m not about to tell you that it’s a foolish notion, because I wish others here took more of an interest, but there’s something you need to know. If you take on the responsibility of medic, it’s not always going to be what you think it is now. Treating an unknown victim is one thing – you can stay objective, emotionally detached so you can get the job done. If things don’t go well, or you lose them – yes you might be affected for a while if it was someone like a child – but you’ll go home and move on with your life. But when it’s a friend? You can’t think. You never can – all you see is someone you care about greatly beneath your hands; their blood coating yours - gasping for the oxygen you may not be able to give them. </em>
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  <em>“You have to look into the eyes of your friend, your brother, and know that if you can’t do your job, their death is on you. You’ll never stop questioning if you did enough to save them; did things right to give them the best chance. When you train as a medic, that’s the responsibility you’ll be faced with every time; and you need to ask yourself if that’s a responsibility you’re ready for.”</em>
</p><p>He’d been quiet, for a while. Processed and thought about the warning Doc had given him with the respect it deserved. But the answer had been simple, and it had been easy. <em>“I’d rather have the ability to save them if I can, then not know how and always wonder if they’d still be alive if I’d chosen differently.”</em></p><p>The decision to learn had been as easy as breathing, and their MC at the time had been thrilled when not only had he returned to the team, but he returned with a skillset Bravo had been lacking. He’d never regretted his decision to learn field medicine, and he certainly didn’t now; but what Doc had told him all those years ago was still true.</p><p>Just because he knew how… it didn’t make it any easier, Doc had been right about that. It was harder when your patient was a friend… So much harder.</p><p>And when your patient was your brother – one of your best friend’s? It was almost impossible to focus.</p><p>But he had too. So he did.</p><p> </p><p>This mission had been the usual cluster fuck these kinds of missions turned out to be before they even landed.</p><p>Missions where there was some big issue like civil unrest, multiple players on the board… ugh. He hated these missions, he really did. There were too many variables, regardless of how much control their intelligence team had; and inevitably it went tits up like he knew it would. Like it had.</p><p>Going back for Ray and Lisa? Bandits at the checkpoint after going on a wild goose chase? Eh, that had been fine – that was easily dealt with, and should have been the extent of the deviations from the plan.</p><p>Instead he was crammed into the back of the truck, trying to keep his best friend from suffocating to death because there wasn’t enough blood in his body to carry the oxygen his organs kind of desperately needed.</p><p>He’d thought they’d been okay. They dealt with the bandits, they got through the town square. They got Lisa, Ray and the reporter and had been hightailing it to the airfield when Ray had roared his name. Then his heart had sunk, because the terror in Ray’s voice told him something was wrong before Sonny’s panicked calls for Brock even started.</p><p>When he got in the back, he hadn’t expected to see Brock slumped against the side of the truck; his skin horrifically pale and clammy and his lips tinged blue. He hadn’t expected to have to hold his brother close to his chest so he could support his limp body as he was lowered to the floor.</p><p>He hadn’t expected his hands to come away a glistening red, even though his subconscious had already started preparing him for it.</p><p>He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t wanted any of it.</p><p>But it’s what he got.</p><p>What made matters worse was that his supplies weren’t his regular ones; his med bag was the smaller one that he carried on missions where things weren’t expected to get out of hand, but was there just in case they did.</p><p>Which meant he didn’t have enough replacement blood to replenish what Brock had lost; he didn’t have enough clotting powder to really pack the wound in his lower back to stop the bleeding – not when he had to treat Brock’s shoulder as well.</p><p>And god only knew what the bullet to the vest had done to his ribs. The bruising was nearly black; and when one factored in the lack of fat and muscle on a person’s back… there was literally no protection. Which meant fractures, at least. The fact that the bullet had struck a few inches away from his spine meant he didn’t have to worry about cracked vertebrae on top of everything else - or worse, breaks. Just potentially collapsed lungs.</p><p>He honestly couldn’t say which option he preferred.</p><p> </p><p>Pulling his surgical gloves off, Trent placed bare fingers against Brock’s neck to check for his pulse – ignored the clamminess of his skin, the paleness of his flesh. Still there, but thready as Ray had said earlier; which was not good in the slightest. Next he carefully rested his hand on Brock’s back, felt the slow, stilted way his friend breathed.</p><p>Face down in the car as he was wasn’t the best for him, but moving Brock onto his back was too risky; especially now that they’d stabilised him the best they could. Turning him now would only dislodge any success the clotting powder had had. Brock couldn’t afford to lose any more blood.</p><p>To make it easier for him to breathe, anything they had was tucked under half his body – lifting him enough that there wasn’t as much strain on his neck. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do in this situation.</p><p>Looking at his hands, Trent noticed how clean his fingers were in comparison to the gloves, and he couldn’t get past the thought it was wrong somehow – like their lack of blood was evidence that he’d failed his brother. Brock’s blood should be staining his fingers as proof he’d fought to save him. That it would prove to everyone that he’d done what he could.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on Sonny,” Ray urged – his words drawing Trent from his own mind and back to the situation at hand. “Can’t you go any faster?”</p><p>“I’m doin’ 90 down a road that I can see fuck all of, Ray. Gimme a break.”</p><p>“Yes Ray,” Jason added, his voice tense despite the smirk Trent could just see curling his lip. “Please give him a break. There’s a reason Trent and… and Brock are our drivers. Let him focus – he’s going as fast as I’m comfortable with him going.”</p><p>“Oh har har, Jase. Way to fill a Texan with confidence.”</p><p>“Just - keep your eyes on the road, Sonny. For the love of god. Please.”</p><p>Even though he was stressed, Trent couldn’t help but grin at that. Jason was certainly right about that one – he and Brock were the drivers for a reason; most of that had to do with the fact they both enjoyed hitting the speedway on days off and racing each other for a laugh.</p><p>Even though it was a way for them to muck around, it was also a good way for them to get in some proper practise of different conditions they might face.</p><p>There was a soft moan, and using one arm to brace against the seat he bent closer to Brock, carefully placing his other hand on the back of his brother’s neck to help ground him. But to also keep him still.</p><p>“Brock, hey buddy – can you hear me?”</p><p>He didn’t reply, but he did shudder; his breathing now coming in in short, panting gasps.</p><p>Brock was struggling to breathe.</p><p>Swearing softly, Trent felt Brock’s side; squeezing his eyes shut when he realised the area around the wound felt harder than before – if that was somehow even possible. His internal bleeding was getting worse.</p><p>Brock was suffocating to death, and there was nothing he could do about it. Their window to get Brock help was short – and was closing rapidly. At this rate, he’d be gone before they could meet the medics.</p><p>“Trent?”</p><p>He looked up, found Ray watching him warily. The expression on the 2IC’s face was one he didn’t see very often; that’s when he realised it mustn’t have been the first time he’d called his name. “Yeah?” He croaked out. Wow, his voice was worse than he’d thought it’d be.</p><p>“He gunna make it?”</p><p>Despite wishing he could reassure them, Trent shook his head. Kept his eyes on Ray even when Lisa let out a disbelieving sob. “He’s got five minutes, maybe, before any help we give him becomes useless.” <em>His organs will shut down from the lack of oxygen – he will literally suffocate in front of us and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.</em></p><p>Facts he wanted to share, if only to prepare them all. But sometimes it was best if things were left unsaid.</p><p>“Well it’s a good thing those medics know how to drive then!” Sonny told them suddenly, and the car immediately began to slow.</p><p>Trent looked out the window; gasped when he saw flashing high-beams approach. No. There’s <em>no way…</em></p><p>The two vehicles pulled up side by side, and Trent had the back door open to receive a medic before they’d fully stopped. Apparently the medics were just as eager to get to their patient, because they were there with blood bags <em>in their hands</em> and were practically trying to climb into the car before the handbrake was yanked on.</p><p>Grabbing the first proffered blood bag, Trent immediately hooked it up to the IV; ensured there weren’t any air bubbles before squeezing it as much as he could to get the blood in the line faster.</p><p>“How’s he doin’?”</p><p>Trent looked up, and was relieved to find a friendly face peering back at him through the darkness. While he didn’t know Danny all that well - the man had only recently been assigned to Bravo – he’d had the chance to see what the medic could do first hand; which meant he trusted him not only with his life, but with the lives of his brothers.</p><p>He filled Danny and his colleague in; told them about the circumstances around Brock’s injury – how he’d lost too much blood already and the internal bleeding was only making it worse. Danny shared a look with the other medic, and said medic went haring off to their truck.</p><p>“Sounds like we’ve got a fair bit of blood to pump into Reynolds so we can get him to the hospital,” Danny mused. “I’m going to start a second IV line; do a double transfusion to try and stave off the worst of the effects his blood loss would have. Ray, I’m going to need you to move so I can do it.”</p><p>Ray nodded and got out of the truck. Danny slid into his spot a second later – accepting the bag his buddy handed over when he returned and removing what he needed.</p><p>“Is a double transfusion really a good idea?” he asked, nervous about running two IV lines – and more importantly going through their blood supply faster than they might be able to get to help.</p><p>“With what he’s lost, and what he’s still losing, we need to get ahead of any consequences he may face from the lack of oxygen to his organs,” Danny replied, already sliding a second needle into Brock’s other wrist. Well, when he managed to find a vein to put it in, which took a couple of attempts courtesy of how much blood Brock had lost already. “Once we’ve seen an improvement in his pulse we can stop the supply from one of them – but if his internal bleeding is as bad as you say then that may not happen until it’s repaired.”</p><p>“And if we run out of blood?”</p><p>“We’ve got three bags of O Neg with us, there’s no way we’ll get through all that between now and the plane. There’s another three on board – worst comes to worst, we get donations from anyone who matches his type or is a universal donor.” The medic clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Trent, we’ll have enough to get him to a hospital.”</p><p>Danny’s calm, easy demeanour helped lower Trent’s shoulders from where they’d settled around his ears. If the man said they had enough, then he believed him.</p><p>With two bags feeding blood into Brock’s veins, Trent thought he was able to breathe for the first time since everything had gone so drastically wrong. Now the next problem to deal with. “We can’t stay here, and we can’t all fit into this truck,” he said, looking at Jason who was turned in his seat and watching them intently. “We need to get moving.”</p><p>“The humvee we brought has enough room to lie Reynolds down in comfortably,” Danny told them. “We need to get him in there and moving sooner rather than later.”</p><p>“Our vehicle’s faster though,” Sonny replied. “Wouldn’t it make sense to keep ‘im in here? Get to the airfield faster?”</p><p>“Normally I’d agree with Sonny,” Ray said, scratching his chin before wincing when he realised he was still wearing bloodied gloves. “But I’d say that humvee is the safest option for our boy – plus we have more manoeuvrability if we have to run security.”</p><p>Jason looked at Ray and nodded, his jaw set. “Danny, what’s the best way to move Brock?”</p><p>“We’ve got a stretcher, best to just put him on that – the less moving his body does, the better.”</p><p>“It won’t disturb any clots that have formed,” Trent added, nodding back when Danny dipped his head in acknowledgement.</p><p>“Alright,” Jason replied. “Let’s do it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Getting Brock onto the stretcher had been relatively easy. With his body already propped up, it was a simple matter of sliding the gear out from under him and the stretcher into its place – lifting the unconscious SEAL the last little bit of the way.</p><p>While Trent and Greg – Danny’s medic buddy as they all learned when he came back from getting the humvee nice and close - carried the stretcher, Lisa and Ray held the blood bags up, and Danny checked to see if moving Brock had disturbed any of his wounds.</p><p>Unfortunately, it had. The movement had dislodged a clot in his shoulder which was once again bleeding freely. The three medics cursed, but there wasn’t much that could be done for it until they’d gotten him settled in the back.</p><p>“Trent!”</p><p>He turned when Jason called his name, left Danny to get Brock’s stretcher situated as he headed closer to his MC. “Yeah boss?”</p><p>“Go with them.”</p><p>Trent blinked. “You sure? What if -”</p><p>“We’ll be fine,” Jason said, cutting him off. “The chance anyone decides to come to the airfield is slim – especially when we had to deviate to this one because the other was too close to town. Danny’s going to need you to give him a hand; and I’d feel a lot better with you in there looking out for our boy.”</p><p>There was something dark in Jason’s eyes. Haunted.</p><p>Trent could read between the lines. Jason didn’t want Brock left alone; wanted someone he trusted with his life with Brock – because in his mind it meant Brock would make it out of this alive.</p><p>He didn’t want to tell Jason that that wasn’t how it worked. But he didn’t, because if anything he was grateful.</p><p>He didn’t want Brock left by himself, either.</p><p>“You got it,” is what he said instead. Clapping Bravo 1 on the shoulder briefly, he grabbed his gun and med pack from the truck before hopping into the back. He grabbed the door, and just before he swung it shut he gave his brothers a nod. “See you guys soon.”</p><p>“Good luck,” Lisa told him, her voice shaking slightly.</p><p>Locking the door, he yelled up the front to Greg to get moving; noting that Danny was busy switching on the internal lamps he’d brought with him so they could better see what was happening. The car lurched forwards, and Trent felt Greg accelerate down the road quickly. Grateful for the speed, he took a second to confirm Sonny was on the road behind them before turning to the task at hand.</p><p>“You’re alright Brock,” he whispered, running a hand through his brother’s sweat soaked curls. “You’re gunna be alright.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The speed used here is miles per hour. In NZ we use kilometres per hour, so I had to convert it – and I look at 90 and giggle because the number is (to my mind anyway) less than our open road number which is 100; so I keep thinking it’s ‘slow’ in regards to motorways. But as it turns out, 90 mph roughly translates to 145kph, which is plenty fast. </p><p>I have weird hang ups on stuff like this – like trying to work out what the American equivalent of our 2L ice cream tubs are. I have no idea what size tubs ice cream comes in in America, but for this fic it’s 4 pints. And then finding out if humans lose up to 2-3 pints of blood, they go into hypovolemic shock; so then I have to convert that back (because I've forgotten the conversion by this point) to put it into perspective for myself after researching what hypovolemic shock means.</p><p>Ugh. Brain.</p><p>But hey – I’ll be great at random trivia nights now. I think.</p><p>Another random note from my research: turns out double transfusions ARE in fact a thing (I did not know this) and there's wide speculation it's actually overused in hospitals. If a patient is bleeding out, like poor Broccoli here, then it's a good solution to keep his blood levels up so he doesn't asphyxiate from the lack of oxygen getting to his organs. If someone has had surgery, but isn't actively bleeding out, a double transfusion is pointless (and this is where it's overused a lot) as it doesn't do much for them because blood isn't physically leaving their body. </p><p>Just a fun, random fact for anyone interested :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fight for What's Yours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>A/N: Hello again! This took a bit longer than I was anticipating, I must admit. Like, 97% has been written for the last week or so, but there was just something not quite working which was really irritating me. BUT! Eight or nine sentences over three paragraphs seems to have fixed it. Hooray! Now I'm happy to publish this!</strong>
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  <strong>I hope everyone is doing well wherever you are in the world! My life certainly got a big shakeup on Friday (read: potential job loss resulting in having to end my flat tenancy due to high likelihood of no sustainable income for the near future), but as I said to my parents the other day it's - as weird as it sounds - kinda nice to have to factory reset on everything. I've accumulated an entire 4 bedroom house worth of stuff over the last three years which I now have to downsize to a single unit, which is oddly freeing. Plus, there are people in situations a hell of a lot worse than mine right now, so I don't think I have the right to complain if I'm honest! As you can possibly tell, I'm a silver linings, glass half full kinda girl. Apparently XD Anyway, what I'm trying to share is a bit of positivity because I know there'll be a lot of people out there who are stressed and struggling with what's going on. If there's one piece of advice I could give, it's that if something big changes you can either be depressed about it, or turn the situation to your advantage. Apply for that dream job, move somewhere new... that kinda thing. When life gives you lemons, and all that. It's on you as to what type of situation it will be.</strong>
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  <strong>Funnily enough, my situation actually inspired a bit of Jason's 'monologueing' near the end of the fic. My skillset is logistics; which is basically one big puzzle with lots of known variables. The surprise, unknown variables are what suck most - which is what my life was the six-weeks prior to Friday!</strong>
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  <strong>I'm rambling. Sorry team. I hope you enjoy this update, let me know what you think! :D</strong>
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  <strong>Special shout out to: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiven">Reiven</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid">Hayzkid</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_eyes248">Blue_eyes248</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/catching_screams">catching_screams</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt12">Jemmacatt12</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainaParker">RainaParker</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hail_The_Angel">Hail_The_Angel</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9">Raeschiev9</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69">swissmiss69</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory">AllAboutTheStory</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr">lorarawr</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterdonuts">monsterdonuts</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716">MiaMalfoy716</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969">Irish1969</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy92">Snowy92</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic">ShellyFanFic</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessiemar850">Jessiemar850</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down">burn_me_down</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301">Marvel1301</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate">yuckate</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder">Wurdsmadder</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen">TheLaurinchen</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GomezHN">GomezHN</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie">FlutieCutie</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiparker">remiparker</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97">purplehaz97</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren">KazooKaren</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88">Lakegirl88</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup">turnitup</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5">Bastet5</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella">Eggerthella</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KStatefan">KStatefan</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42">Laura42</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee">Floopdeedoopdee</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount">CamilleMadeAnAccount</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12">Muggleborn12</a> as well as 42 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!</strong>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Reaching the end of the ramp, Eric turned on his heel and strode back into the belly of the plane. </p><p>He’d lost count of how many laps he’d done since Lisa’s call came in, but figured it was in the low thirties. Maybe. Each lap had kinda blurred into one another after hitting the tenth. </p><p>As he’d paced, he’d had support staff update him on the status of the convoy, then watched the convoy actually arrive. He’d watched the support medics leave, had Mandy marching beside him and - in barely contained fury – provided specific details for what Crowley had done. He’d had Crowley in his face demanding to know why they weren’t leaving, Lisa calling with an update, an update of his own to give her, Crowley again demanding to know when they were leaving… </p><p>If there was one face that deserved an intimate meeting with a pole, it was Crowley’s. And god did his fingers itch to be the one to introduce them. </p><p>Reaching the stairs to the upper deck he turned and paced back down the length of the plane again. </p><p>This evacuation should have been simple. On paper it <em>was</em> simple. Get in, evacuate all non-essential personnel, assist any security issues that may arise, get out again. Quick and clean. No bloodshed, no blow up in violence. There was no reason for things to get out of hand, but they had. And quickly. </p><p>Granted, there was always the chance that any country with civil unrest could become volatile at any moment, but there were ways to mitigate the fallout; stem the tide to salvage relationships between the two countries before shit truly hit the fan. </p><p>But Crowley? Crowley made sure to hit every goddamn button of the South Sudanese that he could on his way out the door; ensured tensions were as high as they could be when America left their country. If only better to convince people back home that he’d done everything he could in such an ‘untenable situation’. </p><p>He was told to evacuate the embassy hours earlier; he chose not to. He was told the aid workers weren’t going to leave; he sent Bravo team to get them anyway. </p><p>Now, because of him, one of his men was several pints of blood short and at risk of dying any second. </p><p>He growled irritably. Bravo team was family. His family. Each of those boys were his responsibility from the moment they left US soil, to the moment they returned. Even when Bravo was home, not on base or on duty, he still felt responsible for them in some way. </p><p>They were his boys; and Crowley had gotten one of them hurt. </p><p>His time working with Bravo went back years. While he’d only been in charge as their Lieutenant Commander for two and a half of those years, he’d been on their team for over five; which meant he was close with each and every one of them. </p><p>Maybe not as close with Brock, but that was only due to the fact the canine handler had only been a part of their team for eighteen months. But despite the shorter time he’d known him, Eric cared deeply for their newest member – enjoyed his company and was often left in awe of his sharp mind. He knew he’d give his life to protect Reynolds, just as he knew Brock would give his life for him. </p><p>Which made Brock’s situation so much harder. It was his job to ensure each of his men made it home; but because someone else had been calling the shots – Brock had been hurt. Brock could still die if he didn’t get help soon. </p><p>He grit his teeth, breathed through the anger that flared white hot. Turned on his heel and paced again. </p><p>Mandy was getting them clearance to land in Dubai so they could get Reynolds to a hospital; get him to the closest help that could actually save him. Although Dubai’s geographical location made it somewhat harder, what with the overall tensions regarding America’s presence in the Middle East, it was the nearest hospital that had the ability to save his life.  </p><p>Cape Town didn’t have the most stellar of medical facilities available, while European and Asian allies were too far away. But Mandy had been adamant she could get them there, so he had to trust that she would. </p><p>They just needed to get Brock there so he could be treated and discharged into Doc’s care via Trent, Danny and Greg. It had to happen, because if it did it meant Brock would be going home. Alive. Not in a wooden box with his brothers gathered around, mourning yet another loss to their team in a few short months. </p><p>A loss so soon would break all of them. Jason wouldn’t be able to cope; would continuously blame himself. Ray would look to guidance in his religion; would struggle if he didn’t find any. Sonny would go off the rails, probably worse than when Nate died, because this would be the second death of a brother; when the first one was still so fresh. Trent…  </p><p>He shuddered. Trent and Brock were best friends; closer to each other than the others of their team – but that came from a love of <em>not </em>being the center of attention; preferring to stay on the periphery and bonding closely over the fact. The way Brock was injured would also be what did Trent in. No one had known that Nate was killed in the firefight – only realised what had happened after the fact. If Lisa’s radio call was to be believed, then Brock had been unknowingly bleeding out in the car for who knew how long. </p><p>Even though Trent was the driver, not in the back like the others, he’d find a way to blame himself for his brother’s death. If that’s what happened. </p><p>He shook his head. That wouldn’t happen. They got help to him in time. Brock would make it – he’d be home, drinking beers with them all again and laughing off another close shave. </p><p> </p><p>Half way up the belly of the plane, his eyes landed in the middle of the hold and he stumbled slightly; his mind helpfully reminding him of the cage that was missing. </p><p>He winced. Cerberus.  </p><p>God. How would their canine react to his handler being injured? Or worse, to <em>losing</em> his handler? He swallowed around the lump in his throat – tore his eyes away from the spot. <br/>   <br/>It was one of the few times that Cerberus hadn’t been with Brock, either on a mission or at least on the plane. Normally the Hair Missile would be right there with them; an asset that was best to have on hand and not need, then to not have and suddenly require. <br/>   <br/>But as it was an evacuation they were carrying out the C-17 would have an extra load of people to bring back to the States, so the dog’s weight - as small as it was – couldn’t be justified for the return manifest. Brock hadn’t had an issue leaving Cerb behind; had known full well the dog would serve zero purpose to the mission - but with the situation the canine handler was in, Eric knew having Cerberus there would’ve brought Brock – not to mention the whole team - huge comfort.  <br/>   <br/>“We’re cleared to land in Dubai,” Mandy said as she approached, dragging him from his thoughts and to the situation at hand. She barely glanced at him as she tapped away on her phone. “As soon as the boys are on board we can head there. The American ambassador will meet us when we land and -” </p><p>“Um, excuse me,” Crowley interrupted, marching over and having the balls to look at them in disbelief. Eric grit his teeth and plastered the best ‘mildly interested’ face on that he could. Oh, but he wanted to introduce Crowley with a support beam in the C-17. It wouldn’t hurt him. Much.  </p><p>“Did I just hear correctly that we’re not going back to the States?” </p><p>“That’s correct,” he replied, keeping his voice even and his back ramrod straight. Despite wanting to do physical harm to the man, Eric refused to look anything but professional. Professionally violent, at worst. “We’ll be heading to Dubai and will be there until further notice.” </p><p>“Excuse me Lieutenant Commander,” Crowley said indignantly, “but you don’t have the right -”  </p><p>He held up a hand, the movement silencing the tirade he knew was coming. Considering he’d been subjected to it twice already, he refused to suffer a third. “Actually I have the only right, ‘acting ambassador.’” Eric ensured he verbalized the quotation marks as much as possible to remind the bastard of his position. “May I remind you that on this plane <em>I’m</em> the one in charge, and quite frankly your actions not only put the lives of those under your command in danger today, but you willingly risked those of my SEALs.” </p><p>He took a step closer to the suit, looked him up and down with as much veiled contempt as he could get away with. “Because of your actions, one of my men is seriously injured - so we will be diverting to Dubai to get him treatment. And let me tell you right now,” He let his voice drop to ensure as few people heard as possible. “If anything happens to him; if we lose him - there will not be a hole left on this planet where I will not find you and bring the wrath of the entire US military down on you.” </p><p>Crowley scoffed, his disbelief lacing his next words. “Are you threatening me?” </p><p>Eric smirked. “No. I’m merely telling you what your future will be if DEVGRU loses one of its best operators.” Dropping his voice even lower, he moved closer until he was in Crowley’s face. “Now this? This is me threatening you - I suggest you sit down and stay quiet, because when my boys get back… if they see you making a fuss? No one on board this plane will see any minor incidents that may or may not occur during the transit to Dubai – it’ll be your word against signed statements from everyone here. Have I made myself clear?” </p><p>Crowley looked between him and Mandy, and out of the corner of his eye Eric saw her look at the man, unflinching. Considering Mandy had already threatened Crowley today, it was utterly ridiculous he’d look to her in hope of support. </p><p>Storming off in a huff, Crowley found himself a seat that was as far out of view as possible. </p><p>“Remind me not to piss you off,” Mandy muttered, but there was no heat to her words. If anything she looked rather impressed. “As I was saying, the Ambassador will meet us with a chartered plane; so we either send this lot back on the C-17 and keep the jet for when we’re ready to leave, or we send the embassy workers back on the charter and go back in this. He’s also organised for Brock to be treated at a private hospital; once we’re in the air he’ll keep them posted on our ETA so they can get him into theatre the moment we arrive.” </p><p>At least Brock wouldn’t have to wait, which meant he’d hopefully be treated and discharged within a day. Scratching his chin and pursing his lips, Eric thought about his two choices. “Politically speaking, what’s the best option?” </p><p>“Sending the C-17 back,” Mandy replied, folding her arms over her chest and bouncing her phone on her bicep. “With all the intelligence we have on board and the size of the plane, our presence will be pretty obvious the longer it stays here.”  </p><p>“Which could make it a target to anyone wanting to seize an opportunity.” </p><p>“Exactly. If we land, offload Bravo, us and Danny, refuel and get it underway – it leaves less of a chance for anything to happen.” </p><p>“Will the charter plane be capable of taking a stretcher?” </p><p>“Once we give Ambassador Danvers our decision, he’ll make sure to get one that will.” </p><p>He nodded. “Do it.” </p><p>Mandy lifted the phone to her ear, briefly squeezing his shoulder. “Consider it done.” </p><p>He went back to pacing. </p><p>About twenty minutes later – it could’ve been less but he’d stopped looking at the clock in the upper decks a while ago, two sets of headlights came barrelling towards them.  </p><p>Thankfully, he’d been near the ramp when he’d spotted them, so he nodded at the corpsman who picked up the phone to the pilot and told him they’d be ready to leave shortly. The plane’s outside lights switched on, and the usual hum that kicked in when the pilot started doing his pre-flight checks began. </p><p>“Clear the deck!” He yelled, and his men started ushering the civilians off to the side so that the cars could drive straight up the ramp. </p><p>The first vehicle in was the truck his boys had taken earlier, looking dinged to hell and pockmarked with bullets. Sonny was in the driver’s seat, and he spared a brief thought for Jason’s nerves. The Texan drove like a lunatic when they were on missions, hence the reason he rarely was the one in the driver’s seat. If only to stop Jason from aging ten years every time he did. </p><p>Sonny, Ray, Jason and Lisa were out of the car the moment it was parked. The humvee the medics had taken was in next, and he joined Bravo at the rear as they threw open the door. </p><p>“Danny, Trent; talk to me,” Jason ordered, pushing his way to the front and gripping the handles of the stretcher. “How’s he doing?” </p><p>“Still alive,” Trent replied, climbing out of the truck before helping to slide the stretcher out. “Careful not to jar him! His wounds are finally clotting and I don’t want to dislodge anything.” </p><p>The boys moved slowly, and Eric moved aside to let a crewman past with the hospital-grade stretcher they had on board; the one that was far better in every way than the field litter his medics had taken. </p><p>“His pulse is also showing signs of improvement.” Danny’s head popped out from the back of the truck as he helped get Brock out of the vehicle. “It’s not amazing, but the transfusion is definitely making a difference.” </p><p>Once he was out of the vehicle, he grabbed the blood bags they’d put on Brock’s stretcher and handed one each to Sonny and Ray – the pair holding them up immediately to keep the contents flowing. </p><p>“Blackburn. Sitrep?” </p><p>Eric turned to Jason and clapped his Master Chief on the shoulder when he got near. </p><p>“Agent Ellis has secured landing permission for Dubai; we’re wheels up as soon as Danny gives the all clear. He’ll be taken to a private hospital for surgery, and once he’s stabilised enough we’ll get him home.” </p><p>“Great,” Jason muttered, placing his hands on his hips and glowering at the ceiling. Bravo 1 exhaled heavily as though he was trying to rid himself of the day’s stress.</p><p>From what Eric had heard, it had been a lot.</p><p>“Hey. He’ll pull through this, Jase,” he said, giving Bravo 1’s shoulder a squeeze. “The kid’s strong; he’ll be fine.” </p><p>“Yeah… Yeah.” Despite the confirmation from his mouth, Eric didn’t believe a word Jason said. </p><p>“Commander Blackburn!”  </p><p>Looking over to where Brock’s stretcher had been parked, he saw Danny giving him the thumbs up. “We’re locked in for take-off!” </p><p>“Copy that,” he replied. “Everyone who’s not already strapped into a seat needs to be so ASAP!” he yelled, nodding in satisfaction when people began scurrying to their seats. “Corpsman, call the pilot; tell him to get us the hell outta here.” </p><p>“Yes sir!” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The flight to Dubai was relatively uneventful, all things considered. </p><p>Brock remained as stable as someone with internal bleeding could, but Eric knew from Trent and Danny’s expressions that they were growing concerned the longer the flight went on. Neither medic was outright panicking though, so he took that as a win.</p><p>As much of a win as could be in this shitty situation, anyway. Brock just had to hold on that little bit longer so they could get him the help he needed. </p><p>As predicted, Crowley had an angry Texan bellowing at him the moment Sonny spotted the man huddled in the corner. Thankfully, Ray and Jason got their arms around Bravo 3 and hauled him away; but physically removing him didn’t stop him from running his mouth and calling the Acting Ambassador a ‘weasel’.  </p><p>Considering what Sonny <em>could </em>have called him in front of everyone present, let alone done to the man, Eric was rather impressed with his restraint. </p><p>Jason’s too, when he did little more than hand the flag over with a pointed remark of how Crowley must’ve ‘accidentally left it behind’. The expression on the man’s face told Eric that it was as far from an accident as you could get. </p><p> </p><p>It had been a couple of hours since then, and Eric was looking at Jason now; noted how he was slumped in his seat, knee bouncing, arms folded across his chest while chewing on his lip. It was a rare picture of his MC looking so... uncertain – especially when he’d looked so pissed when they boarded the plane.  </p><p>He knew trying to talk to Jason about it was a lost cause – the man could clam up tighter than Fort Knox when he was on the defensive – and was about to turn away when he realised that Jason’s eyes weren’t resembling the ‘lost in thought’ glaze he’d seen many a time. No, Jason’s eyes were focused; locked on a target. He looked to where Jason was staring, and he couldn’t deny that his curiosity piqued when he realised on whom Bravo 1’s attention lay.  </p><p>Making his way over, he side-eyed Sonny as he got closer without showing that he was blatantly staring; hoping to get an idea of why Jason was looking at Bravo 3 as intently as he was. Sonny’s head was turned towards the stretcher, but it was <em>his </em>eyes that were glazed over and unseeing. The Texan would’ve been completely still if it wasn’t for the fact he was rubbing his knuckles almost absentmindedly. </p><p>The unnatural near-stillness worried him. </p><p>“That anything I should be concerned with?” He asked Jason quietly as he took a seat beside him, nodding in the Texan’s direction. “Sonny seems distracted.” </p><p>“He was in the back with Brock,” Jason replied, his eyes not leaving his troubled brother. The bouncing knee didn’t calm either – if anything it got worse. </p><p>Then the implications of Jason’s words hit him. Sonny was next to Brock when he was shot, and he didn’t notice. Oh boy. </p><p>“Blames himself for what happened,” Ray added from his spot opposite them, as though it needed explaining. It didn’t. “Thinks he should’ve known that something was wrong and that Brock’s in this state because he didn’t.” </p><p>“Christ,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and exhaling heavily. There was nothing he could do for Sonny, no support he could offer that would be accepted. Sonny was an ‘internalise and spiral’ kind of man; he denied ever being affected by what happened to those he cared about, but Eric had known him long enough to see beneath the bravado. </p><p>Sonny was suffering. And until Brock was given the all clear, he wouldn’t let anyone help him and he <em>certainly</em> wouldn’t listen to reason. He’d keep an eye on it, and would force an intervention if it got that bad; but that was the extent of what he could do for now.  </p><p>He felt helpless, but unfortunately there was nothing he could do to change that. </p><p>Pushing to his feet and shaking his head, he made his way over to where Trent and Danny were sitting, nodding at Doyle and his men as he passed. When they got back stateside, he had every intention of putting in a good word for the RSO and his team to ensure their next placement was wherever they wanted. Their actions during the evacuation had been nothing but exemplary, and he was determined to ensure that was recognised. </p><p>Reaching the medics, he quickly ran his eyes over his unconscious SEAL. Brock was incredibly pale, his curls heavy with sweat, an oxygen mask strapped securely to his face and overall looking far more fragile than he could ever recall. The attached monitor showed a heart rate lower than his usual resting rate – information he’d long ago memorised of his team in case anyone was injured in a place where their information wasn’t readily available – and his BP was low as well.  </p><p>Based on the sight of the two blood bags hanging above the stretcher, Danny obviously had enough concerns about his patient’s state to justify continuing the double transfusion. During the flight, they’d used the last of the blood they had on hand and had since gotten donations from Ray and three other universal donors on board. There were another five on board who were either O-Neg or the same blood type as Brock, and based on the speed in which the bags were being used, they’d be lucky to get a couple more hours at most. </p><p>“Boys,” he said as he joined his medics. “How’s he doing?” </p><p>“It’s a good thing we’re landing in twenty,” Danny replied quietly, his eyes darting just past Eric’s shoulder.  </p><p>A quick glance over said shoulder showed Eric that they were being watched by the remainder of Bravo. Evidently whatever the medic wanted to say, he didn’t want the others hearing or lip-reading if his expression was any indication. Shuffling to the side slightly to block their view, Eric knew it was the right call when the tension around Danny’s eyes eased some. </p><p>“His internal bleeding isn’t getting worse, but it certainly hasn’t gotten any better – and his latest stats, combined with what we can physically see means that he’s starting to go downhill.” </p><p>The news sat like lead in his stomach. “We’re going to lose him.” It didn’t even have to be a question, not with the way the pair in front of him were acting. </p><p>Trent’s head was buried in his hands, but he nodded. “If he’s not in surgery in the next half hour or so, I think we’ve reached the point of no return for him. Anything they do will be a moot point after that.” </p><p>The air left him so suddenly, he had to remind his lungs to draw more air in.  </p><p>Shit. <em>Shit</em>. </p><p>Best case scenario, they had ten minutes from the moment they touched down to get Brock into an ambulance and under the knife. That was assuming the hospital was nearby and there was minimal traffic on the way there. Breaking the timeline down, roll out took five minutes at <em>least</em>, assuming they got immediate clearance to land, then there was the time it took to lower the ramp, transfer the stretcher to the waiting vehicle, getting the stretcher up to the operating room… </p><p>He didn’t even want to consider the worst case scenario. </p><p>They didn’t have enough <em>time.</em> </p><p>“Is… is there anything you can do?” He asked, aware his tone sounded desperate. “Is trying to, I dunno… stem the bleed yourselves an option?” </p><p>Trent looked up at him, his expression one of horrified disbelief. Danny’s wasn’t much better. </p><p>“You mean… operate on him. Here?” Trent asked, his voice strangled. “Are you serious?” </p><p>“Evidently I’m not a medic,” he replied, feeling somewhat defensive. He’d take any action to save Brock that he could, no matter how farfetched it might be. “But you’ve operated in worse environments; so I’m asking you – is it an option?” </p><p>Danny opened and closed his mouth several times, before sighing heavily. “If we were in a building and the only concerns we had were a non-sterile environment? Sure, it’d be an option; but we’re in a <em>plane</em>, sir.” </p><p>Eric winced. Even without the explanation he realised what an idiotic suggestion it had been. Houses and tables didn’t move. Planes <em>did</em>. </p><p>Evidently, Danny hadn’t noticed he’d realised his mistake, because he was still talking. And his realisation of said stupidity meant he’d missed part of the medic’s response. “– but combined with turbulence and our decent… it’s not safe to attempt it because we’ll likely make matters ten times worse. If we don’t accidentally kill him outright.” </p><p>Raising a hand, he nodded apologetically. “My previous statement is proof that just because something sounds smart in your head, it doesn’t necessarily mean it will out loud, Danny. I’m sorry.” </p><p>Danny huffed a laugh. “Its fine, sir. You wanted to help – no shame in it.” </p><p>“Be that as it may, I owe you both a drink.” Boy did he ever owe them a drink. And he ought to wear a hat that read ‘I is dumbass’ in big bold letters when he brought them. “Now, if you reckon Reynolds hasn’t got that much time left I guess I better tell the pilot to haul ass to give us a wider margin.” </p><p>Without waiting for a reply, he marched to the rear of the plane, indicating to the corpsman there he wanted to speak with the pilot. In no time at all, he had a line to the cockpit. </p><p><em>“Commander Blackburn, sir. What can I do for you?”</em> </p><p>“I need you to give this plane everything you’ve got. By the medic’s estimate, our wounded man has less than thirty mikes before he’s beyond saving – whatever you can do, I’m all for it.” </p><p><em>“Roger that. Tell your boys to buckle it; we’re coming in hot.”</em> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>True to his word, the pilot managed to shave eight minutes off his flight time. </p><p>How he managed it, Trent had no clue; but he figured Bravo needed to shout the man and his crew to a round the next time they were off duty. </p><p>The plane landed with a squeal of tires, and was in the final stages of roll-out when Blackburn and Mandy approached their small group; Davis just behind with a couple of their bags and a corpsman holding the rest. </p><p>“The C-17 will be returning to base as soon as we’ve offloaded and it’s refuelled,” Blackburn told them. “We’ll be accompanying Reynolds to the hospital; as soon as his surgery is complete we’ll all be loading up into a jet and heading home.” </p><p>“They’ll let us leave with him? Just like that?” Sonny replied, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.  </p><p>Trent felt much the same; removing a patient from a hospital so soon after a serious surgery was almost impossible as it was - but putting them on a plane to a different country? He was skeptical at best the mere discussion of it happening would even be allowed. Which he pointed out to his CO. </p><p>“We’ve already spoken to Doc,” Blackburn replied. “You and Danny will be in the observation room so you can give him updates as the surgery progresses – we’ve cleared this with the hospital already, by the way – and he’ll make a call on whether releasing him is a safe option. Right now it’s hard to tell purely due to the fact we don’t actually know where the bleed is. If he says he’s happy for him to be moved then we should be out of here in a day or so.” </p><p>Well then. Trent looked at Danny, and the other medic shrugged – likely just as surprised as he was. It wasn’t often Doc overrode civilian doctors, so there was likely more political motives for getting their team out of the country faster; a fact he didn’t much care for. Getting Brock home was all he cared about, which meant he’d do anything in his power to make that happen. </p><p>“There’s an ambulance waiting for you both and Brock,” Mandy told them. “They’ll take the three of you to the hospital so they can take him straight into the OR. There’s a couple of cars for the rest of us so we’ll meet you there.” </p><p>“Sounds like a plan,” Jason said, sounding far more haggard and worn that Trent was expecting. Obviously Brock’s surprise injury was hitting the MC harder than he realised. “Boys, grab your bags.” </p><p>  </p><p>Everything was a blur after that. </p><p>The plane finished moving and the ramp hit the ground at almost the same time – the pilot having been forward thinking enough to get it down while they taxied in. Then he and Danny were pushing Brock’s stretcher to the waiting EMT’s mere feet away. He barely got the chance to look back at his brothers before the door was swinging shut in his face and they were racing to the gates.</p><p>He watched as the C-17 and his brothers grew smaller before turning back to Brock; half an ear on the information Danny was giving their two companions while the rest of his attention focused on the monitor and his unconscious brother. Arriving at the hospital was a somewhat uneventful affair, and before he even registered where they were, the doors to the ambulance were thrown open and the stretcher wheeled out; EMT’s talking rapid-fire to the nurses that met them with him and Danny on their heels. </p><p>As Blackburn promised, they were waved though to Brock’s viewing room; both men silent as they watched the doctors and nurses work to prep his brother for surgery.  </p><p>“If you had to make a guess,” he said quietly, completely out of the blue and even taking himself by surprise that he was talking. Danny’s flinch indicated he’d zoned out a bit too. “What do you think’s causing the bleed?” </p><p>Danny shrugged. “My guess is it’s his kidney, or possibly even a nicked intestine,” he replied quietly. “Christ, considering there’s no exit wound it could very well be both. He’s lucky though – it could’ve been so much worse.” </p><p>Frowning, Trent turned to the medic. It was kind of hard to see how Brock’s injury was lucky, but maybe that was just him suffering from the adrenaline crash that had finally caught up with him. “How so?” </p><p>“The distance the shooter was from the car, the fact that the bullet had to travel through a seat to get to him in the first place… Don’t get me wrong; it’s shit luck he got shot at all, but hopefully with those other factors taken into consideration the bullet didn’t get very far. </p><p>Yep, apparently it was just him. He’d been so worried about his friend that he hadn’t really stopped to consider the circumstances around how Brock had been injured in the first place. Now that Danny pointed it out, things were possibly not as bad as he’d originally feared. </p><p>The door opened, and a nurse entered; waving at two comfy looking chairs behind her. </p><p>“The doctor said you’ll be here a while,” she told them, smiling kindly at the two evidently tired men. “Said to give you the nice chairs.” </p><p>“Appreciate it,” he replied, smiling back and helping her wheel them into the room. Once they were in, he turned back to her; like she’d said, he and Danny were going to be here awhile, which meant they needed supplies. “One other question, can you point out the closest bathroom and vending machines?” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Out in the waiting room, Bravo was sprawled in the corridor.  </p><p>Mandy had disappeared to talk to the Ambassador that had met them, and Blackburn had excused himself to call Command to update the situation. As they had couldn’t join the medical members of their team, the waiting room was filled with tired, sweaty and hungry SEALs. </p><p>“I’m <em>starving</em>,” Jason groaned as he dropped into a chair, legs splaying out in front of him as his entire body seemed to sag into the hard plastic. “And thirsty. What do you reckon the chances are of getting takeaway delivered here?” </p><p>“You don’t want hospital cafeteria food?” Ray asked wryly. “Gotta love them pudding cups.” </p><p>“That’s assuming they <em>have</em> pudding cups here,” Lisa retorted, her face buried in her phone. </p><p>Ray looked scandalised. “What kinda hospital wouldn’t have pudding cups?” he demanded. “They’re like… a pre-requisite of health care, or something!” </p><p>“For Western hospitals, maybe,” Lisa shrugged, barely glancing at him. “But we’re in Dubai, not Detroit.” </p><p>“How long do you reckon this will take?” Sonny asked, cutting off the argument and narrowing his eyes when Jason sighed heavily. “What?” </p><p>“We’ve been here <em>five </em>minutes Sonny,” Jason drawled. “They won’t have even started yet.” </p><p>“Ugh.” </p><p>“Plus we’re looking at a good few hours,” Ray added, smirking tiredly when Sonny’s head thumped against the wall. “Find the bleed, fix the damage; make sure nothing else was affected along the way – that kinda thing.” </p><p>“<em>Ugh.</em>” </p><p>“And for that wonderful display of patience, you can go find us some coffee’s, cowboy.” </p><p>“UGH!” </p><p>Jason and Ray grinned as Bravo 3 hauled himself out of his seat and stomped off down the hall. They grinned angelically at Lisa when she looked at them pointedly before rolling her eyes and getting up to follow Sonny’s retreating back. </p><p>As soon as the pair were gone, Jason dropped his head into his hands. He was <em>exhausted</em>. Physically, from all the running around they’d done during the day – which was topped off with the adrenaline crash when everything went down with Brock – and he was emotionally drained from the fear of losing yet another brother so soon after the last one. </p><p>And now he had to sit here, for who knew how long, until someone came out with news. </p><p>That was the hardest part; the waiting. Past experience had proven, time and time again, that uncertainty was the biggest killer. </p><p>With all the facts, one could make an informed decision on anything – could plan for the short term and get to the long-term outcome they wanted with minimal amounts of stress.  </p><p>But without the facts there were too many variables. Too many factors that you couldn’t control because someone else could make the decision for you; could make the wrong call that meant you had to deal with – and even suffer – the consequences. Which is exactly what had happened today. </p><p>Crowley had played a game without telling anyone the rules; which meant that their lives had been put in unnecessary danger all for some low-life’s political ambition. </p><p>Their original mission had been simple; one that could’ve – and should’ve - been given to any military team. Quick and clean; minimal fuss and effort. They knew the mission. Crowley knew the mission.  </p><p>But Crowley made a different call, and now his team was suffering because of it. </p><p>“It’s not your fault.” </p><p>He looked up, frowned when he found Ray watching him, the look on his face knowing. </p><p>“Sure it’s not,” he scoffed. “Tell that to our brother who’s currently in the operating room.” </p><p>“I will,” Ray retorted, his voice tired rather than argumentative. “And you and I know damn well he’ll tell you the same thing. You didn’t shoot him, and you didn’t know he’d been shot. You acted as quickly as you could when you knew something was wrong – that's all he’d ask anyone to do Jase, and you know it. Besides,” exhaling slowly, Ray felt his whole body sag under the weight on his shoulders. Admitting this was going to be the hardest part, but he knew it had to be done. “The only person to blame is me.” </p><p>Jason frowned, his head tilting to the side. “What do you mean?” </p><p>“I walked right past him when I went to get into the car, so it was on me to notice something was off. I should’ve seen the blood on the side of the truck, and I didn’t.” It had taken him twenty minutes to convince his stomach not to expel its contents when he’d gotten out of the car in the plane and seen the blood smear along the side. Brock had dragged his body against the car as he moved past to get to the rear, leaving an obvious trail for anyone to see. </p><p>He didn’t. </p><p>So if anyone had failed Brock, it was him. </p><p>“Ray, the truck is black,” Jason replied, his tone exasperated. “Plus, it was pitch black out there. How in the hell were you supposed to see blood on the paint job?” </p><p>“I saw him leaning against the car when I approached. Thought he was just trying to watch my back or something,” Ray said softly. “I thought it was odd, but I didn’t say anything.” He covered his eyes with a shaky hand. “All this? It’s on me.” </p><p>Jason looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually he just heaved a sigh and slumped further into his chair. “It’s on all of us,” he countered, but it was defeated at best. “What I want to know is why didn’t he say anything? He can’t have not noticed.” Looking up, Jason knew there was a desperation in his eyes that spoke volumes for how scared he’d been. </p><p>It was a look that only Ray had ever been privy to. Not even Alana had been trusted with it. </p><p>“Why didn’t he say anything, Ray?” </p><p>Ray shook his head, leaned back into his own seat. “I don’t know, Jase.” The words were whispered, but they were true. The lack of trust Brock seemed to have in them stung, and he wanted answers. When this nightmare was over, he had every intention of demanding an answer from their canine handler, so he could make sure it never happened again. </p><p>“I don’t know.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Forgiveness Is Forever Given Freely</h2></a>
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  <strong>A/N: Hello lovely people! I'm so glad you've been enjoying this story; I just can't get enough of the Brock whump! This chapter was a nice and easy one to write because our dear little floret isn't as injured as he was in my first story, so thankfully his hospital stay isn't all that bad! I had hummed and harred over whether to make this story any longer, but I feel like it wraps up quite nicely here and it also means I can get onto my multi-chapter fic that I promised in the previous story! That one has a hell of a lot more conscious Brock than my first two stories combined, so I'm excited to get it underway!</strong>
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  <strong>I'm hoping to have the first chapter out by the end of the week, but as I'm moving house this week I'm not sure where I'll squeeze writing it in! Thankfully most of the first chapter is already written (read: brain-vomit that prompted the original idea) so hopefully there's not too much cut and polish needed to get it finished :D</strong>
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  <strong>Anyway, thanks again to all you amazing peeps who've been following my crazy-whump!brain through these stories, and here's to many more! &lt;3</strong>
</p><p><strong>Special shout out to </strong> <strong><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriter_44">ghostwriter_44</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakura77">Sakura77</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiven">Reiven</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayzkid">Hayzkid</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_eyes248">Blue_eyes248</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/catching_screams">catching_screams</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemmacatt14">Jemmacatt14</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainaParker">RainaParker</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hail_The_Angel">Hail_The_Angel</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raeschiev9">Raeschiev9</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/swissmiss69">swissmiss69</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllAboutTheStory">AllAboutTheStory</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorarawr">lorarawr</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterdonuts">monsterdonuts</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaMalfoy716">MiaMalfoy716</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish1969">Irish1969</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy92">Snowy92</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellyFanFic">ShellyFanFic</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessiemar850">Jessiemar850</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/burn_me_down">burn_me_down</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel1301">Marvel1301</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuckate">yuckate</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wurdsmadder">Wurdsmadder</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLaurinchen">TheLaurinchen</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GomezHN">GomezHN</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutieCutie">FlutieCutie</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/remiparker">remiparker</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehaz97">purplehaz97</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazooKaren">KazooKaren</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakegirl88">Lakegirl88</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitup">turnitup</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bastet5">Bastet5</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggerthella">Eggerthella</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KStatefan">KStatefan</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura42">Laura42</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floopdeedoopdee">Floopdeedoopdee</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMadeAnAccount">CamilleMadeAnAccount</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muggleborn12">Muggleborn12</a> as well as the 53 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome!<br/></strong></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Sonny. Sonny! Slow <em>down</em>.” </p><p>Slowing his pace only marginally, Sonny continued down the hallway in search of coffee. The hunt for caffeinated beverages also gave him time to be by himself, or it would’ve if Lisa hadn’t followed him. Normally her company would’ve been appreciated, but right now he just wanted to be left alone. </p><p>They’d made it to the hospital, and they’d managed to get Brock the medical care he so desperately needed. By all appearances, things were on the up and up. So why did he still feel like crap? </p><p>Oh wait. Because Brock was here because of him. That was it. </p><p>Everyone was telling him that Brock’s injury wasn’t his fault; that he couldn’t have known Brock was hurt if the man hadn’t said anything. But he should’ve known something was wrong. It was his <em>responsibility</em> to watch out for each of his brothers: from the driven and confident Jason Hayes down to the stealth ninja that was Brock Reynolds. It was his responsibility to watch out for each of them, his job to know where each brother was and their status at any given time, and he’d failed. So spectacularly. </p><p>He might as well have been on holiday for how useless he’d been. </p><p>Yes, he’d noticed the silence from his brother while they’d been crammed in the back of the truck; but he hadn’t thought much of it beyond the fact he was a little quieter than normal. But they’d also been trying to slip away from the town unseen, and the chances of being attacked at any moment had still been high. </p><p>The two or three times he had looked out of the corner of his eye, it had appeared that Brock’s gun was held in a relaxed, but ready to act position. And honestly? That was about as far as he’d looked, now that he thought about it. He’d seen fingers around the correct grips, the barrel facing forward and just <em>assumed</em> Brock was ready for trouble, just like he’d been. If he’d actually bothered to turn his head, taken that split second longer - he might’ve seen the brunet slumped against the side as he had when Lisa asked about the blood. </p><p>God. That was a sight he wouldn’t forget any time soon. It would be the feature of every nightmare he had for the next few years – right there alongside the ones he already had about Nate. </p><p>He could feel himself spiralling, his thoughts getting darker and heavier the more he thought about what he’d done – what he’d failed to do. So, when a hand cupped his elbow it was like that simple touch took the wind out of his sails. He stopped, bowing his head as he tried to avoid Lisa’s eyes but only found himself looking straight into them when she ducked her head. </p><p>Damn her and her stubbornness. </p><p>“Hey, wanna tell me what that was all about?” </p><p>“Dunno what you’re talking about, Davis,” he replied, but even he knew his heart wasn’t in his retort. Still, he had to try. “‘m just gettin’ coffee.” </p><p>“Uh huh, like I’d let you drink coffee at,” she glanced at her phone to check the time, “two am? Geez. Yeah, no – you boys can have decaf or nothing, cause you need to sleep.” </p><p>He scoffed, allowing the flicker of amusement he felt to reach his eyes. “Yuhuh, good luck with that - Jase’ll skin me alive if that’s all I come back with.” </p><p>“Well it’s a good thing I’m here then, because he won’t argue with me when that’s what we return with.” </p><p>It was tempting to call bullshit, but even he wasn’t brave enough to risk Lisa’s wrath. Nodding in acquiescence he continued down the corridor, Lisa walking shoulder to shoulder with him. </p><p>Maybe if she left him alone with his thoughts he’d find a way to get his head above water where he could breathe again.  </p><p>Although he knew he wouldn’t breathe properly again until Brock was standing there and calling him a dumbass to his face. </p><p> </p><p>They stayed silent as they followed the signs to a cafeteria; Lisa out of respect for the sleeping patients, Sonny because she knew he didn’t want to say anything. </p><p>When they arrived, Lisa spotted two coffee machine’s and headed straight for them, smirking at the decaf option. Quickly counting out the number of cups needed, she stuck the first two under the spouts and switched the machine on, wincing as the machines sputtered to life noisily before crossing her arms and turning to the Texan. </p><p>“Silence is not your virtue, Quinn. Spill it.” </p><p>Sonny glared at her. “There’s nothing to say.” </p><p>“You either tell me what bug crawled up your ass, or you don’t get coffee or dinner,” she threatened, smiling as she switched out cups. “Your choice.” </p><p>“You ordered food?” his voice was suspicious, as though he wasn’t quite sure he believed her. “You’re tellin’ me you found a place open at two in the goddamn mornin’?” </p><p>“Apparently Dubai doesn’t sleep,” she replied, switching cups again and securing lids to the first four. “And I did, yes. Pad Thai to be exact.” </p><p>Because she was facing the machines, she could hide her smirk at the Texan’s grumble. Pad Thai was one of his favourites. “And there’ll be more for the rest of us as you won’t get anything if you don’t talk, so spill.” </p><p>Sonny swore irritably, and Lisa knew she should feel bad for blackmailing him straight after an exhausting mission. But she also knew him well enough that it was the only way to get him to open up; an exhausted Sonny was a begrudgingly talkative one. An alert Sonny was nearly impossible to crack, hence tackling the issue now. </p><p>She’d overheard snippets while they were tending to Brock, so she had an idea of what was going on, but she needed to make sure. </p><p>Switching cups again, acting like she had all the time in the world, there was finally a defeated sigh. </p><p>“I did this,” Sonny muttered, his voice tired and defeated. She turned her head enough to see her friend physically slump where he stood; his expression drawn and… broken? Yeah, that was the right word. </p><p>Not one she ever expected to associate with the bold as brass Texan that was Sonny Quinn. </p><p>“Brock’s here because’a me.” </p><p>As she’d suspected. It wasn’t just general concern for a brother, it was misplaced self-blame and anger. </p><p>“Well what’d you shoot him for?” she asked, keeping her voice mild despite wanting to shake her head in exasperation. “That was a bit of a dick move.” </p><p>As expected, Sonny looked affronted. “Excuse me?” </p><p>She swapped cups again and turned to him, raising a brow challengingly. “And on that note, why the hell did you gag him? Shooting Brock is one thing, but keeping him quiet is just cruel. Why would you do that to the others? Yeah he’s still the newest, but I thought he’d earned his keep on Bravo ages ago. That’s pretty low, even for you.” </p><p>“The fuck, Davis?” Sonny sputtered, his face warring between horror and fury at the accusation. “I didn’t do <em>any</em> of that!” </p><p>“Then why the hell are you acting like you did?” she snapped, and was quietly satisfied when Sonny gaped wordlessly at her. Good; because that meant he was listening. “He was injured in a confrontation with enemy combatants at night and in a high stress environment. The long and short of it is that Brock was shot and didn’t say anything. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t like attention; which if that’s the case then Jason’ll need to address it. But, consider for a second that Brock not saying anything has nothing to do with his quietness.” Switching the machines off she quickly put the lids on to keep the heat in and set them in the carry trays she found nearby. That done, she handed a tray over and nudged him back towards the hall. </p><p>“What’s one of the biggest killers when injured during a firefight?” she asked, knowing full well her friend was listening attentively. He might not show it outright, but she’d known him long enough to recognise his expressions. </p><p>Sonny stayed silent, and she almost rolled her eyes at his stubbornness. Almost. </p><p>“Adrenaline, Sonny. Some people don’t say anything, because they don’t even know it’s happened. Brock is a team player through and through, so I’d put my money on that being the case here, rather than him choosing to stay quiet out of some misplaced sense of stoicism. So stop beating yourself up over what happened, because none of this is on you.” </p><p>It was quiet for a moment, but she knew that Sonny was stubborn enough to keep up with his self-flagellation. Sure enough… </p><p>“I still shoulda known something was off with him.” The protest was quiet; soft and miserable and it was then Lisa realised it wasn’t so much about the fact Brock had <em>been</em> injured, but that Sonny felt it had been his responsibility to know if and when Brock <em>was</em> injured. The fact that he didn’t know was what was eating him up. “I shoulda paid closer attention.” </p><p>“Look, I know losing Nate was hard, and how we lost him made it so much worse. But this isn’t like that; we got Brock help, we got Brock <em>to</em> help. He’ll pull through this because he’s as stubborn as the rest of you.” </p><p>They turned another corner, and suddenly Lisa could see the rest of the team. Nudging Sonny gently, she gave the Texan an understanding smile. “No one blames you, cowboy, so you need to stop blaming yourself.” </p><p>It was like a weight slid from her friend’s shoulders when she gave him permission to forgive himself. Sonny gave her a small smile in return, and together they walked shoulder to shoulder to the team. </p><p> </p><p>When they got there, Lisa noticed Jason was studying his brother intently; undoubtedly looking for a sign that Sonny was still a million miles away. Studying him and evidently finding nothing of concern, Lisa nodded at the grateful look Jason gave her when he realised she’d put an end to the Texan’s spiral. </p><p>His grateful look promptly turned to one of disgust, however, when he nearly spat his coffee all over the floor. </p><p>“The hell is this?!” Bravo 1 demanded once he choked down his mouthful, although it was a near thing if the full body shudder was any indication. Removing the lid and giving the contents a hesitant sniff, Jason looked at her - his expression one of betrayal. “Is this decaf?!” </p><p>“It’s all they had,” she replied, lying through her teeth without missing a beat; her raised eyebrow daring him to argue. “You want coffee, that’s what you get - so suck it up.” </p><p>“I’m not going to enjoy drinking this, just so you know,” Jason grumbled, gagging slightly as he took another mouthful. </p><p>She smirked, taking her own sip with a straight face. Decaf wasn’t her favourite either, but she also wasn’t a fan of caffeine hits at stupid o’clock in the morning so this was a good alternative. “I know. But I’m going to enjoy watching you do so anyway.” When Bravo 1 looked away, she bumped fists with a chuckling Blackburn.  </p><p>There was a ping, and Lisa removed her phone to check the message; her stomach rumbling as though on cue. “Food’s here,” she told the group, which got several tired-yet-excited cheers. “I’ll be back in a minute.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The food had only just been handed out when Danny arrived, the tired medic lighting up like a Christmas tree at the sight of a full bag waiting for him.  </p><p>Apparently, Trent had found a vending machine close to the OR, but he’d only been able to positively identify two things in it and the rest he hadn’t been game enough to buy. But, according to Danny, he said he knew that Davis would sort something for them, and no sooner had the words left his mouth than his phone pinged with a message telling them an order for Pad Thai had been placed.  </p><p>Both medics had been ecstatic because the adrenaline crash had hit them hard. Eating would help distract them and hopefully stave off the full-blown exhaustion they could feel lingering on the periphery for a little while longer. Maybe.  </p><p>He didn’t have any news for them, as the surgery had only just started, but he said the doctors were pretty confident Brock would make a full recovery, so they were holding onto that fact. </p><p>The relief Bravo felt at Danny’s words was hard to describe, but they found themselves breathing easier because of them. </p><p> </p><p>The next few hours passed in a blur. Mainly because they all dozed off from full bellies and the oh-so-dreaded crash they’d all known was coming. </p><p>In fact, Mandy was the only one awake three hours later; tapping away on her phone and unofficially watching her team’s backs. The moment she’d finished helping Ambassador Danvers finalise the paperwork for their flight home, she’d been doing her report; wanting it submitted and read by her superiors before the C-17 touched down in Washington to drop off the embassy workers. </p><p>Crowley’s behaviour and complete disregard for the safety of his staff and those assigned to protect him wouldn’t go unanswered, and she’d make sure of it.  </p><p>He might think he has sway with the government because he was the top dog in the embassy while the previous ambassador had yet to be replaced, but she was CIA. And she was damn good at her job. She’d ensure that every government official who should know about what unfolded in Sudan, did – and she’d make sure they all knew that acting-ambassador Crowley had willingly put the lives of the embassy employees, not to mention some very expensive, very sought-after SEALs on the line unnecessarily.  </p><p>No one hurt her team and got away with it. </p><p>She was in the process of re-reading what she’d written so she could submit it when the elevator chimed, and she sat up suddenly when her tired eyes advised her brain that it was in fact Trent walking towards them, and not a figment of her imagination. </p><p>Her sudden movement woke Blackburn, and the squeak of his shoes on the linoleum when he stood roused the others; everyone going from barely conscious to alert in a split second. </p><p>When Trent reached them, his eyes were bloodshot and his face lined with exhaustion, but he was smiling; triggering a collective sigh of relief from their little group. </p><p>“He’s okay,” he told them even before he’d finished walking. “The doctors said he’ll make a full recovery.” </p><p>“Oh thank god,” Jason sighed, covering his eyes and exhaling shakily. Taking several deep breaths to re-gather himself, he removed his hand and looked at his medic. “What happened?” </p><p>“One bullet lodged itself in his shoulder, one caused some severe bruising to his upper back but thankfully didn’t cause any fractures or breaks while the last one – which caused the more serious wound - nicked his kidney and one of his intestines,” Trent replied. Danny had been so startled he’d guessed right that he’d fallen out of his chair in shock. “It was the blood loss and the toxins released into his body that were causing the problems, more so than the injuries themselves, but they’ve cleaned him up and have started him on a round of antibiotics to kill off any infection. He’s going to be sore, there’s no doubt about it, and will be on bed rest for a couple weeks then light duties for another month. Should be back operating in a couple months or so.” </p><p>“Christ almighty,” Sonny growled, raking a hand through his hair. “Goddamn kid is gunna give me a conniption.” </p><p>Trent wasn’t the only one who chuckled at that. “It could’ve been worse,” he admitted, “but thanks to the distance of the shooter and the fact the bullet had to travel through the seat before hitting him, he got off lightly.” Danny’s guesses had been so bang on, Trent told the medic he was going to buy him a bottle of scotch in celebration. Danny said he was going to buy <em>himself</em> a bottle of scotch in celebration; because guessing an injury that accurately was just crazy. Especially when he hadn’t witnessed it in the first place. </p><p>“Shit he has some luck,” Ray sighed, sharing an exasperated look with the others. “He’s like a cat with nine lives or something.” </p><p>Jason rolled his eyes. Ray was right about Brock having some crazy luck; the annoying thing was that he couldn’t just tell Brock to <em>stop</em> being lucky, because then he’d get himself killed just to spite him. </p><p>That saying about being stuck between a rock and a hard place? The person who coined that had never been in Jason’s shoes. He was stuck between Brock and heart failure every day – and it drove him absolutely mental. He dreaded to think what his life would be like if Spenser made it through selection. The kid had talent, there was no doubt about it, but there was an air about him that just <em>screamed</em> trouble-magnet.  </p><p>He already had one of those on his team. He wasn’t quite sure he’d survive a second one. </p><p>“When can we see him?” he asked instead. God, he needed at least a bottle of whiskey when they got home to help him de-stress. “Or are they still finishing up?” </p><p>“No, he’s already in post-op,” Trent replied. “Danny’s just sorting his discharge paperwork then we should be good to go.” </p><p>As though he’d timed it, the elevator chimed again and spat Danny, a stretcher and several nurses out into the corridor. They all watched as the small group made their way over, and gratitude’s were passed from Bravo to the nurses for looking after their brother before the small team left them to it. </p><p>“He’s ready for transport,” Danny told them as he double checked Brock’s oxygen mask and the portable bottle that was attached to the stretcher, before giving them a nod. “The doctor said an ambulance should be pulling up shortly for us to get him back to the airfield.” </p><p>Jason moved closer to the head of the stretcher, eyes taking in the sight of his injured brother. Compared to the last time they’d seen him; it was evident Brock was already on the mend.  </p><p>Gone was the pale, grey-tinted skin and sweat soaked curls that were the result of his body doing its level best to kill him – instead his skin was only a couple of shades off his usual golden tan and his hair was dry and fluffy. His face was no longer drawn in pain, likely on account of some excellent painkillers, and his hands – when Jason took one in his own – were no longer clammy. </p><p>“You’re going to be the death of me, kid,” he sighed, giving the hand a squeeze before setting it back down gently. “Can’t take you anywhere without trouble finding you.”  </p><p>Ignoring several poorly stifled snickers, he snagged his bag off the floor and looked at his team. “Let’s go home.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The flight from Dubai to Virginia Beach was uneventful; the team slept for most of it, and when they woke Blackburn had them complete their AAR’s before pulling out the cards; bags of skittles appearing from who knew where to be used as currency as the bullets they usually used had been left on the C-17 with their guns.  </p><p>Brock was kept heavily sedated throughout the trip, and both Trent and Danny had had nothing but positive comments whenever they checked his vitals. The doctors had done a damn good job repairing the damage, and Lisa had already ordered a gift basket to be sent to the team who’d looked after Bravo 6 as a thank you. </p><p> </p><p>Sonny picked up another card and winced when it was a king before setting it in the middle of his clock; sweating slightly that he only had two to go and he wasn’t even halfway through his game. It was his fourth round, and so far he’d only won one game because the bloody kings kept popping up near the top of the pile. </p><p>At this rate he’d switch to solitaire in protest. </p><p>“Goddamn it,” he groused when he drew yet another king. Evidently there was something wrong with the deck he was using. “What kinda bullshit is this?” </p><p>There was a soft sigh, and he froze; glancing up to see if he’d accidentally woken Brock with his mutterings. </p><p>He’d volunteered to take first watch while the others went home to their families; or in Trent’s case went home for a shower and a change of clothes before he collected Cerberus and brought him here. At first Jason had said that he’d stay, but Sonny had put his foot down and told Jason to get his ass home to his wife and kids. Brock was going to be fine, which meant Jason didn’t need to be there straight away; and he was more than happy to take the first watch. </p><p>If taking the first watch was also so he could apologise to Brock without an audience, then that was his business. Although the look Jason gave him meant he probably hadn’t been as subtle about his intentions as he’d thought. </p><p>So, here he was. Sitting in Brock’s hospital room, watching over the canine handler as a deck of cards kicked his ass. </p><p>His brother had made a couple of odd noises, but that was to be expected as Doc had taken him off the sedatives when he landed so that they could talk to him sooner rather than later. Apparently, the noises were good because it meant that he was waking. Maybe. The brunet had twitched a couple times, and groaned at random intervals; but nothing beyond that. </p><p>Although his head was now turned in Sonny’s direction, which was probably the biggest change since Doc had removed the IV. </p><p>“Brock?” he asked quietly, throwing caution to the wind and calling his brother’s name in case he was closer to consciousness than he looked. “Floret? Ya hear me?” </p><p>There was no response, and after a few seconds with nothing further he turned back to his cards with a shrug. </p><p>Picking up the remaining face down card showed him a six. He placed that at the bottom of where the six was on the clock and drew a nine. He got through a further seven cards before he drew the fourth king. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>“Fuck,” he muttered, eyeing up the royal bastard irritably. Although... he knew where it was now. There was nothing to say he couldn’t just... slip it to the middle of a face down pile somewhere – he’d only had one three so far, so the likelihood of drawing all of them right now was slim which meant he could win the game with some totally not-cheating-but-rearranging of cards. Yeah, that sounded reasonable. “Fuck it.” </p><p>He slipped the king to the bottom of the threes. Nighty night you royal prick. </p><p>“That’s cheating.” </p><p>He startled so badly he knocked the table hard enough to send half the cards to the floor. Ignoring the mess that was fluttering down to his feet, he looked over to the bed and sure enough Brock was watching him, his expression tired but amused. </p><p>“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he immediately countered, waving a hand at the remnants of his game. “I wasn’t cheatin’.” </p><p>“And I’m not in a hospital bed,” Brock retorted sleepily, before frowning and looking around the room. “Why’m I in a hospital bed?” </p><p>Turning his chair so he could face his brother properly, Sonny folded his arms over his chest. “Why’re you – I’m guessin’ you don’t remember what happened?” </p><p>Brock frowned his ‘I’m thinking’ frown while picking absentmindedly at his blanket. “We were in South Sudan helping evacuate the embassy,” he said eventually. “We got sent to... a school?” When Sonny nodded, he nodded back as though reassured. “Then we... went somewhere, and then it was dark and...” his eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” </p><p>Sonny raised a brow at him. “‘Oh’?” he repeated, unimpressed. “You get shot, three times I might add, and all you can say is ‘oh’?” </p><p>“In my defense, I thought I was hungry.” </p><p>He rolled his eyes, but was swamped with an odd sense of relief at the knowledge that even Brock hadn’t known he’d been hurt. If Brock hadn’t known, then maybe it meant he’d be able to forgive himself after all. “Only you would mistake an injury for being hungry,” he sighed. “You’re honestly telling me you had no idea you’d been shot?” </p><p>Brock shrugged helplessly. “No?” he replied, his answer so near a whine Sonny had to fight back a grin. A tired Brock was a toddler Brock, which would normally be hilarious if he wasn’t laid up in an infirmary. “I thought I was hungry, then when I did realise something was wrong Trent was busy trying to save our asses and I didn’t want to distract him with something that was probably stupid. Then you and Jase weren’t in the car and I couldn’t... speak, I guess. My mouth felt like it was full of wool.” </p><p>“How’d you get to the back of the car then? And while we’re on that, why didn’t you grab Ray and tell him something was going on when you got out?” </p><p>“Um, instincts and training?” </p><p>Brock was going to be the death of him. “You’re gunna be the death’a me,” he told the canine handler, because it was a fact he felt was important to point out. If he thought his nerves were shot, he could only begin to imagine how Jason felt. “You’re a walking disaster Reynolds, holy hell.” With an exasperated huff he leaned down and scooped the cards up so he could sort them to face the same way again. They both fell quiet; Sonny because he didn’t know what else to say and Brock because he’d probably drifted off again.  </p><p>He’d nearly finished sorting the cards when a thought suddenly hit him. “Why were you hungry?” he asked, completely baffled. It didn’t make sense because Brock had always made sure to eat enough that he wouldn’t suddenly be hit with the munchies mid-mission. “You always make sure you eat properly before a spin up. What gives?” </p><p>Brock gave some weird grunt-snuffle, which confirmed the man had in fact drifted off. “Curry and ice-cream,” he replied drowsily, but Sonny frowned; confused even more. </p><p>“The fuck do you mean curry and ice-cream. You ate curry and ice cream flavoured MRE’s? What?” Where the hell had he found those? And more importantly, why hadn’t Davis given him any? Rude much. </p><p>Brock opened his eyes enough to give Sonny his patented ‘I’m talking to an idiot’ stare which, Sonny realised, he was subjected to a lot. He wanted to be offended, but knew most of them were probably justified. “Why the hell would you eat an MRE that’s curry flavour? That’s just rank in so many ways.” He shuddered, then winced in pain. “I had a late-night curry and dessert with a visiting friend the night before. Kinda threw my eating off for a bit; trust me, it won’t happen again. Now shuddup and let me sleep.” </p><p>“Mmhm.” </p><p>They fell quiet again, and deciding to try his hand at solitaire this time Sonny set up the cards. </p><p>“Is Jase mad at me?”  </p><p>He looked over at the quiet question, found Brock’s eyes dark with a vulnerability that was rarely seen. Brock Reynolds was one of the most quietly confident people Sonny had ever had the privilege of knowing; insecurity wasn’t something he’d seen an awful lot of from Brock during his time on Bravo – but he knew it had been particularly bad at the start.  </p><p>It was rare that it reared its head these days, but that was likely due to the fact Jason and Ray had made a concerted effort to stomp it out after Brock wound up in hospital because of it. </p><p>“Na kid,” he said, placing a hand on Brock’s ankle and squeezing gently. “You gave him a hell of a scare and a few more grey hairs, but he’s not mad.” </p><p>Brock seemed to sag in relief, so Sonny made a note to give Jason a heads up about what their youngest brother had asked when said brother fell asleep. “Hey Sonny?” </p><p>Apparently, that wasn’t going to be anytime soon. “Yeah?” He smirked when he managed to get an alternating set from seven down to ace in one of his lines. Damn he was good. </p><p>“It’s not your fault.” </p><p>He froze before looking up at Brock with wide eyes. The canine handler was looking back at him knowingly.  </p><p>“What happened to me wasn’t your fault,” he said again. “It’s shit and sucks big time, and I’m going to bitch about being in here because I’d very much prefer to be at home, but this isn’t on you.” </p><p>He scoffed. “Brock, buddy. If you knew what had happened then you’d know that’s not true. You were barely conscious when we realised something was wrong. I was sitting beside you the whole time, and I didn’t notice. What kinda brother does that make me?” </p><p>“One who was watching his team’s back,” Brock replied without missing a beat. “As I’d have expected you to do, because it’s exactly what I would’ve been doing if I hadn’t been shot.” Reaching out, Brock placed a hand over Sonny’s and looked him in the eye. “You were doing your job, brother. There’s no one I’d trust more to have my team’s six than you, so you need to let this go.” </p><p>“I...” <em>I don’t know if I can</em>, was what he wanted to say. Despite his talk with Davis, he’d still held onto some of the blame because it was hard to shake the feeling that he should’ve done <em>more</em>. The fact that Brock knew him well enough to absolve him of his guilt spoke volumes of his brother’s big heart. “Thanks man. Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep so I can concentrate on this game, and you can be more functional for Trent and the hair missile when they arrive.” </p><p>Brock flipped him the bird before closing his eyes to do exactly that. “Dude, you suck at anything that isn’t go-fish,” he stated, smirking despite now not being able to see Sonny. “I don’t even know why you bother.” </p><p>“Excuse you, I am the master of poker and black jack.” </p><p>“Wow that’s so weird, my bullshit detector just went off. Wonder why. Now shuddup; wounded man sleeping here.”</p><p>“For an asleep man you’re awfully loud.”</p><p>Brock let out a fake snore before settling back into his pillow. In no time at all sleep stole him away, his face smoothing out as he was pulled under.</p><p>With a grin, Sonny turned back to his game. Brock was alive and would make a full recovery. He had no doubt the canine handler would be an absolute pain in his ass for the sake of it during that time, but if being driven crazy by Brock was all he’d suffer, then he’d take it happily. </p><p>After all, it meant his brother was alive and well; and that’s all he could truly ask for. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1. I've never been to Dubai, so I have zero clue if the restaurants shut at night or run 24/7 or something. Or if they even sell Pad Thai. I'm obviously assuming both here!</p><p>2. The comments about decaf coffee are not mine, because I don't drink coffee. Period. I can't stand the smell of it and have never tried it! Although I apparently make really good ones courtesy of my previous job at the cinemas which included being a barista.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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